


One More Time

by Piper1016



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, bethyl
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-02
Updated: 2017-07-10
Packaged: 2018-10-27 02:53:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 67,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10800195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Piper1016/pseuds/Piper1016
Summary: NA-no zombies...Pretty light and fluffy! Beth and Daryl they are thrown together through a baby boy in need of medical care and both are finding it more and more difficult to fight what they feel towards each other and the past that they once shared.





	1. Chapter 1

**I can't believe I haven't posted this one here. Hope you all enjoy it if you haven't already read it. I'll add chapters as I have time. :)**

* * *

"Well, we'll just take a look," Beth told the anxious mom as she took the otoscope from where it was hooked on the wall and placed it to the little girl's ear, peering inside. "Probably just a little ear infection."

The patient had a slight fever, sinus drainage, and pain in the ear for a week. She was a regular patient here at King County's only clinic during the six months Beth had worked there. The girl was sick so often that Beth suggested a daily vitamin regimen to try and boost her immune system, even going so far as to buying the pills with her own money and giving them to the girl's mom, saying they were free through the clinic. Whether she took them or not was anyone's guess as she continued to be sick.

She, Sophia, was a small girl with a tiny frame and short dirty blonde hair, shy but warming up to Beth with each visit. She was ten years old but acted much older than her age, an 'old soul' as Beth's mother, Annette, would call her. She had allergies, asthma and eczema. Beth reiterated at each visit the importance that no one should smoke around her, and the girl's mother swore no one did. The reek of second hand smoke they both were perfumed in told Beth a different story.

Carol, the mom, was a bit tougher to break. She was obviously still untrusting of Beth. In her late-thirties to early-forties, if Beth had to guess, and was as jumpy as a cat in a lightning storm. She tried hard to hide the tell-tale signs of abuse with long sleeves or sunglasses or poorly applied make-up, but they did not escape Beth's keen eye. She never found a bit of evidence of abuse on the girl. However, if she had, she would have had to report it to child protective services. Hell of a lot of good that would do, Beth scoffed inwardly, but it was still what would need to be done.

"Yep, just as I thought, a little pus behind the eardrum." Beth pulled back, throwing the cover to the otoscope into the trash and replacing the scope on the wall. She patted Sophia on the knee, giving her a wink. The cutest smile escaped Sophia's face before she bowed her head to her lap, where the worn out doll she always carried sat upright with her fabric legs crossed.

Turning to Carol, she spoke casually, "We can do one of two things: Antibiotics, or wait it out." The overuse of medication was turning into a real problem, and since they were not dealing with anything major, something that would most likely clear up on its own since it is viral to begin with, Beth tried to find alternate solutions in such cases. "We'd just treat the pain and discomfort. Of course if it isn't cleared up in about a week, we will do antibiotics, but for now, it's up to you mom."

"Well, umm…" Carol looked uncertain, fiddling with the sunglasses in her hand; her short, silver hair rounded her head attractively. She looked tired, Beth surmised, and not just from lack of sleep, but from the constant strain of being in, what Beth guessed to be, an abusive relationship; the kind of relationship that weighed on your mind as well as your body...the kind of marriage that made it difficult to just put one foot in front of the other.

Beth knew they had no insurance and very little money. Luckily, Sophia received state funded medical care, leaving her able to obtain much needed services from the clinic. Beth knew what was running through Carol's mind: either shell out more money she did not have for a prescription, with her husband probably disapproving of that choice, or waiting to see if things cleared up on their own, inevitably prolonging Sophia's suffering, making her feel like a bad parent. Beth decided to make the decision for Carol.

"Why don't we just wait it out? I think she will be better in a day or two, but call me in four days if she is not and I will send over a script for amoxicillin to the pharmacy."

Carol looked visibly relieved; a scant smile, much like her daughter's, spread across her pretty face. "Okay, doc. That sounds good."

Beth walked them out to the counter, handing off the chart to the nurse who sat behind an outdated computer. "Here ya go, Sasha."

"Thanks, Beth." The nurse had worked at the clinic for years and knew it better than any of the other three staff members. "See ya next time, Carol. Take care of that cold, Sophia," she told them.

Walking them to the door, she gave Carol instructions on what to do to aide Sophia's fever and pain. "Now remember, call me if you have any questions or need anything." She said this at the end of every visit, the underlining meaning not missing either woman.

Beth had seen plenty of domestic abuse cases in her days as an ER doctor in one of New York City's largest hospitals, but here it was different - more personal, she supposed. She wanted so badly to help everyone, which is why she became a doctor to begin with, but knew there was only so much she could do. Carol was an adult, and her marriage to what was probably an abusive man was none of Beth's concern. Despite these facts, she wanted nothing more than to show that man a lesson or two on how to treat his wife.

Thankful for the end of her shift, she shook off the foul mood that Carol and Sophia's visit had brought, she climbed into her '86 CJ Jeep. She loved this vehicle. It had belonged to her father, Hershel, ever since Beth could remember and when she turned sixteen her father passed it onto her, much to her older brother Shawn's discontent. She drove the hell out of that Jeep and then regrettably stored it in her father's barn when she moved to New York when she began college. After moving back to town a few months ago, she was thankful she had kept it. Living here in the backwoods of Georgia, you needed a rugged, reliable vehicle, and four-wheel-drive was of great importance. More than once a week, she was called out to a home in the mountains or along some washed out two-track to see a homebound patient, so she relied on the Jeep to get her where she needed to be.

Today she was glad in her choice to keep the top off the jeep just a few days longer as the cool fall breeze whipped past her windshield. She drove a bit too fast, with the radio blaring Foo Fighters a bit too loud, down the dirt road leading to her father's farm. This was why she moved back: she had had enough of the city life, the faceless, impersonal feeling of a large city, something at one time she desired. After growing up in King County, a very small rural farming community, she needed to get out...get away. Experience life on her own, on her own terms. Oh, how she'd wanted that with all her naive seventeen-year-old heart. Her parents encouraged her, wanting her to chase her dreams of becoming a doctor, even if that dream was over eight hundred miles away. So, fresh out of high school, with a full scholarship to NYU School of Medicine, she packed up one suitcase and traveled north to start a new life, one where no one knew her name. Looking back now, she wondered how she ever went through with it, having never stepped foot out of Georgia up until that point. 'Bravery mixed with stupidity,' she theorized. She wished she could have a portion of that teenage valor back again; uncertainty resounded deep in her heart more days than not.

After she finished college and her residency and secured a job, she could no longer stifle the urge that crept up her backbone to be back at home, to be there to help her aging parents, to be an aunt to her sister, Maggie and brother-in-laws' two children. She wanted to be a regular presence in Molly and Michael's life, not just an occasional visit at Christmas or summer vacation.

She missed helping her big brother, Shawn. She had learned a lot from him; hanging out at his small shop in town, fixing cars. Now he had expanded to a five bay mechanic's garage, "Shawn's Automotive." She didn't miss fixing cars so much, but she missed the time spent with her big brother. On top of that were the countless friends and extended family, most of whom still lived in the area.

She'd longed to drive, as she was now, down this dirt road, gravel flying out from her 32's, hair being blown into a tousled mess. Then one day, during their weekly phone calls, Hershel had mentioned a job as lead doctor had opened up at the clinic. She snatched up the opportunity.

"Hey there, baby girl," Hershel greeted Beth as she climbed up her parents' porch steps after parking her Jeep next to his ancient Ford.

"Hey, Daddy." He was sitting in his normal spot in a rocker on the porch, enjoying the day's weather. Retired from Veterinary Medicine, he was now a man leisure and enjoyed every second of it.

"How was work today?"

"Oh, just fine. The flu seasons startin' up already." She climbed the steps and placed a kiss to the top of her father's head. "So you be sure to take those vitamins and wash your hands."

"Yes, Dr. Greene," he sassed.

She swatted playfully at his arm, "Mama inside?"

"Sure is. Stayin' for dinner?" Beth made it a point to stop out to her parent's house a few times a week and have dinner. The time spent with her parents was as much for them as it was for herself. Her absence magnified the importance of what family meant to her. That was one thing she was not unsure about; the time she spent with her family. Beth had been gone twelve years. She knew she would never leave King County again.

She wasn't planning on staying, since she'd had a long day, but the smell of fried chicken wafted through the screen door and her stomach grumbled with hunger, reminding her that she'd skipped lunch. "Ya know I will never turn down one of Mama's meals."

* * *

Stuffed to the brim and feeling every bit of her twelve hour shift at the clinic, Beth parked her jeep adjacent to the lean-to next to her house. It was only half full of wood. She sighed loudly; one more thing to add to the to-do list: split and stack wood. She trudged to the back door, unlocked it and entered through the kitchen. Immediately the room wrapped her in its warmth. The darkness enveloped her like a heavy blanket and she stood for a moment allowing the obscurity of nightfall to surround her.

The kitchen was placed at the back of the small cabin and led into a beautifully rugged log-walled living space with a stone fireplace. A vaulted ceiling opened to the loft bedroom space. It was built ages ago and when she was looking for a home to purchase after moving back, she knew not to look any further after finding this one. This one was meant to become her home.

The cabin was only a few miles further out in the country than her parent's farm. Hershel and Annette would love nothing more than to have her living at home again, but they understood she was an adult and needed her own space. She mostly just wanted to be left alone, which is probably why the cabin in the middle of nowhere was so appealing. She loved her job and helping the people of her hometown, but it required her to be on her toes all day. It didn't matter if she didn't feel like talking or if she had a headache, or if she was overwhelmed by the number of patients versus the lack of resources the small town had to offer them. It shouldn't matter, anyway. The patient's needs came first, but by the end of the day, some days, she didn't want to talk or see anyone outside of her family, a side effect of living in an overpopulated city for far too long. She was a small town girl at heart.

And yet, by moving back she replaced one stack of problems for another. In the city she had every medicine, every test, everything she needed that a physician would need, but she lacked true quality time with her patients. The drugs and violence made her job dangerous. She was constantly watching over her shoulder. Here, she was safe, she was helping her people, but the town lacked resources. In King County, drugs and violence were an issue, as with any town, but not to the magnification that they were in New York City.

Beth went straight to the bathroom and shrugged out of her navy blue scrubs and stepped under the showerhead, allowing steaming hot water to pour over her face, attempting to wash away the racing thoughts that often kept her awake at night.

* * *

"What do we have today?" Beth asked Sasha, from behind the counter. Sasha only motioned to the waiting room with a pushed out hand. They had a waiting room full of sniffling, coughing, ragged looking patients.

"This virus is sure gettin' 'round," Sasha told Beth, handing her the first patient folder of the day. The other doctor, Tyreese Williams, or Dr. Ty as the patients affectionately called him, wouldn't be in until noon as he was checking on their housebound patients. Beth took a deep breath, accepting of what would no doubt be another long day, and took the file from Sasha, calling out the patient's name.

By five, when the clinic was supposed to shut down for the day, Beth had seen over 75 patients and the waiting room was still full. At some point, Beth was unsure when, Maggie had stopped in and took over Sasha's post, leaving Sasha able to do her job of ushering patients in and assessing their situations.

"When'd you get here?" Beth asked when she saw Maggie sitting at the front desk, typing away at the keyboard and simultaneously talking on the phone. She held up a finger to Beth, shushing her. "Uh huh, I understand, but technically the clinic is closed for the day. We can fit you in tomorrow at 10:30." Maggie paused, listening to the person on the other end of the line, then spoke again, "Okay, yes. We will see you tomorrow then." Maggie replaced the phone to receiver to the cradle. "I got here a couple hours ago. I stopped in to see you, cause I don't ever get to see you," Maggie eyed her pointedly, and Beth felt every bit the little sister, "when Sasha cornered me, begging for mercy."

"The kids with Glenn?"

"Yep."

"You know you don't haveta do this." Though they desperately needed her help.

"When you gonna hire someone just to work reception?" Maggie asked, not waiting for an answer before going on. "You know I don't mind helpin' out. I love staying home with the kids but it's nice to get away from diapers and peanut butter sandwiches and runny noses…" On cue a child sneezed from the waiting room. The sisters shared a much needed laugh, "Well, at least I don't have to wipe that particular nose."

"Thanks for your help, sis. It should start slowing down now, go lock the door and switch the open sign to closed!"

"Your next patient is waiting." Sasha said from somewhere behind her. "Room two." The clinic had four patient rooms, Beth was bidding with the town to add more. The powers that be, however, were resistant to spending money on the expansion the clinic desperately needed.

"Okay, thanks."

Taking the patient's folder from the slot on the door of room two, she read the name on the tab and grinned. Knocking twice, she entered the small space. It held a cot, one folding chair, and a small cupboard that they had to keep locked. People would walk away with anything these days. The floor was a white speckled linoleum that Beth guessed to be older than herself.

"Hello. What brings you to the clinic today?" She asked the patient, pulling her stethoscope from around her neck, placing it to the exposed skin left visible by his partially unbuttoned shirt.

"Well," the man spoke casually, the paper on the bench underneath him crinkled loudly as he leaned back. "You did." She made eye contact with him, just as he snatched her wrist in his fist, pulling her to him. "Where you been, Doc?" he asked just before crushing his mouth to hers, knocking her stethoscope to the floor. She couldn't help but surrender to the pull of his lips. A few men had shown interest in Beth since she had moved back to town, but none were quite as persistent as Deputy Shane Walsh.

His caring, charismatic persona matched his handsome good looks, all of which Beth found hard to resist. He also had a quick temper and possessive side. Combine that with both their work schedules, they found it hard to see each other longer than a few minutes here or there. Dating seemed like a bad idea.

Although his warm, strong arms felt good wrapped around her body, she regrettably untangled herself from his grasp. "I been here. Ya know that." Shane was a good man, but he had a jealous streak as wide as the Mississippi, and Beth did not have time for such games.

"I miss you." The look on his ridiculously handsome face told her he was sincere. They had discussions, mostly via text, that led her to believe he was more serious about her than she was about him. Unfortunately, she felt strong lust as well as a liking for Shane, but not a whole lot more. She tried to let him down easily, but he was persistent and Beth could not help but feel a little flattered.

"I'm sorry Shane." And she truly was. "It's just so busy here. I hardly have time to think."

He nodded, but she doubted what she said sunk in. He dropped his arm from where he held her around the shoulders to her waist. "You know you have fun when we're together." He grazed kisses from her collarbone up to just behind her ear, making her eyes unconsciously roll back in her head. What he said was true enough, but it just wasn't the right time even if his lips on her skin felt, well...amazing.

"Shane…I…" His hand traveled down to her behind, pulling her up and into him, nestling her into the V of his legs. "I hafta go…"

"Can I see ya' tonight?" His deep voice was muffled by his kisses.

She was tempted to say yes, every bone in her body screamed it, but she knew that would be a bad idea.

"I'll be here late…then I'm going to Maggie's." Shane's teeth nipped her earlobe; she needed to step away from him. She wasn't some teenager ruled by hormones. She was a grown woman, at work no less! As the seconds ticked by it was becoming harder and harder to pull away. Taking a deep breath, she finally pushed him back and stepped away. "You should go." She bent to pick her stethoscope up off the floor and straightened her backbone, pulling herself up to her full height, hoping to look professional, like she had it all together.

He tried to hide the hurt he felt, but she saw it in his chestnut eyes. "I'm sorry, Shane. We've talked about this before. It's jus' not a good idea."

He nodded his head in a way that told her he did not agree, even though he was shaking his head in the affirmative. He stood in front of her; there weren't many other places to stand in the small room. Roughly he placed his hand behind her neck and pulled her face up to his, once again covering her lips with his, then abruptly pulled back, and asked, "If it ain't a good idea, why does it feel so right?"

"It doesn't feel right, Shane. It just feels good. There is a difference." Rip the bandaid off all at once, don't prolong the pain.

She felt smaller by the second, as he slammed open the door and strode down the hall.

Sasha barely dodged him as she walked down the same hallway. "You okay?" she asked Beth.

"Yes," she said, in a voice that sounded calmer than she felt. "Who's the next patient?"

And so the week went on. Lots of sickness, which meant long days. It was finally Friday and Beth was looking forward to a weekend of sleeping in and doing chores around the house. Shane apparently had taken the hint and had stayed away from her, even going so far as to not wave at her when they crossed paths on the main street that ran through town, where on one end was the Sheriff's office, the other end was the clinic. Such was life in a small town.

It was well past dark when she parked her jeep in its normal spot in her driveway. The weather had turned cold and damp, the wind howled through the surrounding trees, whipping her hair around her face. It was an effort to put one foot in front of the other as she walked to her back door when she heard shuffling on the small porch, stopping her in her tracks. A dark figure stood on the top step. At that moment she wished she had listened to her father when he suggested she put a motion detector light above the door.

She reached into her bag for the can of mace she carried with her when she lived in the city, never bothering to take it out once she got back to Georgia. Holding it out, she yelled, "Stop!"

The figure did stop, but a chuckle carried through the crisp night air. _This jackass has the nerve to laugh?_ But the image of herself, standing in scrubs, holding out a can of mace was probably humorous to a criminal. The chuckle, though, had a familiar rumble to it.

"Who are you?" she questioned, squinting her eyes against the dark.

"Beth, it's me, Daryl."

 


	2. Dreams

The mumble of words sent a quiver through her belly. She knew that voice, would know it anywhere, even after not hearing it in twelve years.

Beth dropped her hand and the can of mace slid from her fingers. "Daryl?"

"Uh-huh."

"Wha...what are you doing here?" Breathless, her heart beat choked off the air flow to her head, making her thoughts cloudy.

"I need you."

And just like that she plummeted back in time; to a time when she was young and loved him with all her immature heart. He, of course, did not think of her that way. Daryl grew up just down the road from The Greene's. He was always around in some facet or another, usually pal-ing around with Shawn. She remembered back to when she was five and Daryl was ten, him giving her piggyback rides and chasing her with snakes.

Then, when she was fifteen, except to occasionally help Shawn scare off any guy that might be interested in her, Daryl pretty much ignored her, much to her disgruntlement. She remembered him being tough and angry, a long rangy kid with an attitude bigger than Zeus. She saw through that tough kid exterior and straight to the pain he suffered from a rough life. Because of that, because she saw through the asshole front he personified and saw him for the person he truly was, they grew into a friendship all their own. Daryl could be a different person when he was with her. He could be himself and not fear the ridicule or jeering that he would receive at home or among his friends.

Then, when she was seventeen, almost eighteen, he was twenty three and no longer a boy, though he never really was a kid. His body had filled out to match his height, his broad shoulders and muscled arms, tan and strong. She was just an innocent girl, but they shared that one night together, and when she left for college the next day she was no longer a virgin.

"I need your help," he amended, bringing her back from her reprieve of memories - memories she had worked hard to forget but never fully could.

Confused, she asked, "Need me? For what?"

A muffled cry swam through the air. At first Beth thought it was a bird or an owl hooting at the missing moon, but then as Daryl stepped closer she saw the bundle he held close to his body covered partially by the leather cuff he wore over his grey hooded sweatshirt. A baby.

"He's sick. I heard you's a doctor now." Not just heard, but knew for a fact, he made it his business to keep tabs on Beth since her departure and return to town, casually so no one would be the wiser. For instance, Daryl knew the day she graduated from college; which hospital she worked at in New York. When she came home he knew she took the job at the clinic, knew where she lived. He made sure to keep a distant but sharp eagle eye on Beth Greene.

"Well yes, but…"

"You ain't gonna' help 'im?" A fear ran through his body he'd never felt before. She had to help him.

"Yes, of course." She would help a baby or anyone else that may need medical attention. "Bring him inside," Beth said, all business now. She was no longer that innocent kid; she was a woman – a doctor. She unlocked her door and switched the light on, thankful that she had left the fireplace smoldering throughout the day. The coals left the house warm from bite of the chill outside.

"Lay him down on this," she said, spreading out a kitchen towel on the table in the middle of the kitchen. She went to the sink and washed her hands before looking over the child. The baby was subdued in the heat of the house, peering around, trying to figure out where he was. Beth unwrapped the heavy fleece blanket Daryl had wrapped him in then unzipped the impossibly tiny snow suit. 'At least he had the brains to dress the baby warmly before taking him out in this weather,' she snidely thought to herself.

"Well?" she questioned Daryl, her contempt apparent. 'Why wouldn't he just bring the baby to the clinic during business hours, why wait? He can't risk these types of things with a child so young. And where was the child's mother?' Beth wondered.

"I think he's got a fever. He's been coughin' and fussin'. He's usually a good baby. Don't normally cause no problems."

"You _think_ he's got a fever?"

"He felt warm. My mama use to kiss my forehead to tell if I had a fever. He felt warm to me."

Rhetorically she asked, "You know, they sell thermometers right down at the drugstore?"

Now stripped to his diaper, the baby started to fuss again against the sudden chill. She looked him over. He had a black cap of hair, the room was too dark to tell but she guessed his eyes to be blue, the same shade as Daryl's. A shadow of a dimple brushed his cheek. Beth's chest constricted as it always did when she was near a baby. She had always wanted a child or two...or ten. Accepting long ago that it just wasn't in the cards, she ignored the feeling and focused on the job at hand.

She guessed him to be about four months old, no signs of malnourishment or neglect. His clothes were clean, his diaper was fresh, his hair smelled of Burt's Bees Baby Soap. She held the stethoscope, still around her neck from work, to his chest. She heard a tiny bit of congestion, but overall his lungs sounded clear. She peered in his mouth using a spoon and a mini-flashlight and found his throat reddened. His nose was snotty and filled with mucus.

"How long has he been sick?"

Daryl rolled his shoulder, "A week?"

"A week?" Her forehead wrinkled when her eyebrow rose. "He needs x-rays to rule out pneumonia."

"Pneumonia? Damn." Daryl looked down at the baby, taking his tiny hand in his larger one. He looked genuinely worried and Beth thawed a little toward him. She could not figure out why she was being so judgmental of him. His story was a mystery to her. She was letting her feelings of long ago affect her job.

"I don't think he has pneumonia. His lungs sound clear..." The baby coughed a tiny little cough, then another not so tiny cough. Then another.

"He just starts choking. It's damn scary. It's like he can't catch his breath."

As his coughing continued, Beth scooped him up in her arms and went into the bathroom, turning the shower faucet on as hot as it would go.

Daryl was on her heals, "What the Sam Hill you doin'?"

Beth had never tried it herself, but she faintly remembered her own mother doing this when she was a child and sick. "The steam from the hot water will help loosen the crud in his chest." She looked from the baby, who was already starting to settle down, to Daryl. He looked like a frightened child. "It's gonna' be alright," she reassured him kindly. "Babies get sick all the time. Sometimes with way worse than what he's got. He'll get through." Beth looked down at the baby in her arms. "And you will too." She tried not to let the fact that he was Daryl's sway her opinion, but the baby she held was just precious. "Shut the door," she directed Daryl, not looking up from the baby, afraid that Daryl could read the look on her face.

Beth sat with the baby in her arms, perched on the edge of the tub, and Daryl stood awkwardly at the door. Both were sweating through their clothes as the small bathroom filled with steam from the shower.

"You're trick worked," he said after a few moments of silence, nodding to the baby, who not only ceased coughing but was now asleep in her arms. Beth couldn't repress the sigh that escaped her. There was nothing sweeter on God's earth than a sleeping baby.

"What's his name?"

"Shooter."

Daryl must have seen the look of confusion on her face that she, unsuccessfully, tried to hide because he corrected, "William is his real name. But we've jus' always called him Shooter."

When she met his eyes, immediately he looked down at his shoes. William was his father's name. Why would he name his child after that son of a bitch?

"Ya'll should stay," she said on impulse. Daryl was, after all, an old family friend and even though she had no idea what he was up to these days, he was in deep need of help with the baby. If she sent them to the emergency room now at the hospital the next town over, they would have at least a three hour wait. Best to wait it out here till the morning. Beth could handle a tiny baby with the flu; the baby's daddy was another story altogether.

Daryl had always prided himself on not needing anything from anyone. It was different now that he had a child to look after, something he wasn't ashamed to admit he knew nothing about.

He nodded at Beth, "'Preciate it."

And just like that, the man she'd tried to forget all these years was back taking up space in her mind and in her life.

* * *

"Don'tcha ever take it easy?"

Beth smiled at the sound of her brother's voice. She had seen him pull down her drive as she stacked wood, feeling like she wasn't even making a dent in the stack she'd been working on all morning. She tried sleeping after Daryl and baby Shooter left, but to no avail. She had only laid awake, thinking of Daryl...and the baby. She and Daryl had taken turns walking him, rocking him and sitting in the steamed up bathroom with him, saying very little to one another. The baby was obviously sick, his fever hovering around 101. Beth was almost sure it was the virus going around, but sent them at first light to the emergency room to have x-rays taken.

"This is taking it easy," she joked, placing the last log onto the stack before turning to him. Her brother, Shawn, had grown into a man in the decade since she had been gone. He was older than her, but when she left he was still a kid in a lot of ways. When he wasn't working, he was hell bent on raising Cain, getting drunk and chasing any girl that wasn't fast enough to get away. His hair was the same shade of jet black, perpetually in need of a haircut. He looked the same, but different. Not necessarily older, but more mature.

He had always had a mechanical mind; one of her first memories was of Shawn taking apart their mother's electric can opener. Annette was mad at him, until he put it back together and it worked better than it ever had. It only made sense that he would become a mechanic.

"Day off from the shop?"

"Ehh," he rolled his shoulders. "No such thing as a day off when you own your own business." Beth understood what he meant; she found it hard to stay away from the clinic on the few days off she had.

"Want a Coke?" she asked him, walking to the covered back porch. Not waiting for an answer, she retrieved the two Cokes from the deep freezer she had put inside before starting to work on the pile of wood.

"Why don'tcha pay the Grimes kid to do this wood for you? He'd work for cheap, I'm sure."

Beth shrugged, taking a swig from the cold, almost crystallized soda. "My house, my work."

He nodded, finding it difficult to delegate responsibility at the shop as well. Like brother like sister. "How's Shooter?" Shawn asked, popping the top of the Coke can.

Beth looked at him in surprise, "How'd you know 'bout Shooter?"

"Daryl's my friend, 'member?" Beth's cheeks flushed in embarrassment. They were friends, of course. 'Duh, Beth,' she thought. Shawn explained, "I hired him on at the shop a few months back. He had to call off today, said the baby's sick, that you sent them to the emergency room."

"You didn't tell me you hired Daryl." Then again, he wouldn't have told her. He doesn't keep her apprised of all the ins and outs of the garage.

"He's a good motorcycle mechanic. I needed a motorcycle mechanic; he needed steady income because of the baby 'n all." Simple as that. A friend helping out a friend.

The last thing she wanted was her brother wondering why she had a sudden interest in Daryl so she stuck to his original question. "Shooter will be fine. he's just got the flu or some virus. They will take good care of him at the hospital."

"Good. That baby has really turned Daryl's life around."

"Oh yeah?" Beth asked, trying her best to sound casual. Holding back all the questions swarming through her mind. _Who is the baby's mother,_ for starters. And _where is she at?_

"Yep, Babies will do that to ya'."

She supposed that was true enough.

Giving up on the wood stacking for the day after Shawn left, Beth went inside and laid down on her bed. Meaning to close her eyes for only a moment, unintentionally she was soon fast asleep.

In her dreamy haze, the chirping birds and the sounds of the breeze blowing through the far distant trees took her back long ago to when she was fifteen and walking through her parents' property.

_She followed the trail back to the pond in hopes of finding a brief reprieve from the heat of the hot afternoon. School had been long and tortuous, and then she had chores to do once she got home. Maggie was being a bitch and Beth just wanted to be alone for a while. The sun beat down on her bare shoulders and she could already feel the cool water as she neared the creek, hearing the flow of water over rocks. She was wearing her bikini top with her shorts covering the bottoms. Annette, always trying to cover up her daughter's growing body, had finally relented to allow Beth to wear a two-piece that summer and Beth shamelessly flaunted her new womanly curves. The summer she turned fourteen she had sprouted breasts and her hips were no longer straight and narrow; she now had a womanly flow to her body._

_When she finally got to the pond, though, she discovered she wasn't alone. There was Daryl Dixon, taking a swim himself. Beth hid herself behind a large oak tree and took in the view - tall, tan, and not an ounce of fat on his muscular body. He was a serious man, she rarely saw him as carefree as he was at that moment, dunking his head under the water and coming up, shaking the water off his hair, spitting water from his lips. He was having fun, and the idea made Beth smile._

_As he rose from the water, his back to her, her mood plummeted when she saw the scars his father had left on his back. Everyone knew his father was a mean drunk and after Daryl's mother died and his brother, Merle, had taken off, there was no one else to protect him, and his father took his aggressions out on Daryl. No one talked about it, of course, not directly to Daryl anyhow. Those who dared bring it up to him at the very least would receive a black eye._

_Beth's eyes drifted to those tan broad shoulders pebbled with water and something strange pulled in her lower belly, a sensation that happened more and more whenever she set her adolescent eyes on him. Feeling bold, she unbuttoned her shorts and stepped out of them, showing off her pink bikini bottoms. Throwing her towel down on the sand alongside her shorts, she walked to the water's edge, posing as she often saw Maggie do around the boys in town, putting her hand on her hip, fixing her pretty, young face with nonchalance. "Hey, Daryl."_

_Surprised, he spun around to face Beth. Her heart thrilled when his gaze went down her body before quickly going back to her face. He nodded his head, "Beth."_

_She coyly felt the water with her toes before walking into the pool of coolness and straight up to Daryl in the waist deep water. "Hot today."_

" _Uh huh. Shouldn't you be in school?"_

_Daryl had ignored her since she hit puberty and grew breasts, only taking time out to tease her on occasion, having no idea how to act around her. She had to admit watching him squirm and look everywhere but at her gave her a thrill. The boys in school were so young and dumb. Daryl was different, mature, with a cool aloof distance._

_Really, she knew him better than most people. She saw past the grumpy edge and into who he really was. She sighed inwardly. Oh, how she wanted him with all her juvenile heart._

_Flipping her hair over her shoulder, she replied, "School's out for the day."_

_He grunted deep in his throat, and finally looked down at her, his hair falling sexily into his face._

_She couldn't take it anymore. She had to show him how she felt. Boldly she lifted her hand to graze his washboard stomach with her fingertips and placed her palm on his damp chest. Bluntly, she asked, "Daryl, do you wanna kiss me?"_

_Beth leaned her body into him, raising her lips up to his and placed them on his. Her lips were warm and sweet, pure, never having touched another's._

_She thrilled as his tongue gently parted her lips and explored her mouth. Placing both hands around his neck, she pulled him closer to her, her breasts rubbing sensitively against his bare chest. Then all at once he pushed her back, holding her at arm's length, his fingers digging in the skin just above her elbows._

" _Damn it, Beth. What the hell do ya' think yer doin'?"_

" _I...I just thought…"_

" _Ya'thought what? I'm almost twenty years old. I can go to jail for messin' with a girl your age. Or worse yet, yer daddy will find out!"_

_His words crushed her down to her core and she no longer felt like a woman, she felt every bit like the child she was. "That's all you think of me as...as some kid?"_

" _Exactly." He pushed past her, and strode to the shore sending ripples through the water._

" _Daryl!" She called after him, he stopped, but didn't turn around. "You do want me, and that's what's got you so pissed off."_

' _Bingo!' she thought as he paused. To her dismay, he said nothing as he walked up the creek bank and disappeared into the trees._


	3. Can't Save Everyone

**Thanks for reading (or rereading)!**

* * *

 

 

Daryl made an oath to himself to stay away from Beth when he heard she had come back to town, only allowing himself to watch her from a distance. He would never forget seeing her for the first time though; he was at the cafe in town, just wasting time. This was before the baby, when he was wandering around aimlessly, working when he needed the money. Mechanic, heavy equipment operator, construction, doing runs for Merle. Back when he was always leaving himself free enough to drop everything, climb onto his Hog, and take off if the mood caught him.

He was sitting at the end of the counter, reading a magazine, when the door jingled. He barely spared the young blonde a second glance. That is, until he heard her voice – that clear melodic, beautiful voice that held the slightest Yankee accent overlaying her southern twang. That sweet voice and the woman it belonged to had been haunting his dreams for the last decade.

Peaking over the top of his copy of Trunk-N-Trader, he saw her. There stood Beth Greene...and he could hardly breathe. He'd periodically set eyes on her in the past, each time causing his insides to turn to mush. Seeing her home, back in their town though, made a weakness come over him that he'd never experienced before. He wasn't a wimp, hell no. No woman ever had this effect on Daryl Dixon.

Except this one. This one was unlike any woman he'd known before or since.

Beth hadn't aged a day; she still wore her long. Sun-kissed, golden blonde hair in a ponytail down her back. Standing tall and confident in her bright green doctor's scrubs. Daryl always knew she would make it, would become a doctor. Once she set her mind to something, no one could ever deter her. If someone told her she couldn't do something, well then, all the better for her to prove them wrong. She was strong headed, for sure her daddy's daughter. And Daryl was utterly wrong for anyone like her. The memory of their one night together would always be a part of him, as real to him as the air he breathed. If that's all he could ever have of Beth, then he would take it and one day die a happy man.

He slunk back behind his magazine and acted like he didn't see her, and she obviously hadn't seen him. Daryl had a way of blending into the background, a trick he'd learned as a child trying to avoid his daddy's wrath. Sometimes it worked. More times than not, though, it didn't. This trick, however, did prove helpful in other areas of his life, as it did over the years when he did his checking up on Beth. He knew how to become invisible. It was none of his business how Beth faired, this much he knew, telling himself he did it out of and obligation to the Greenes - to make sure she was safe, to be sure she was well. It was a lie, but it was a lie he was willing to live with if it meant he could keep tabs on her.

Now that she was back home, he'd kept his distance, knowing she most likely wanted nothing to do with him. Life had other plans, as life often did, because Shooter got sick, and he needed her in a very unexpected way.

Of course she'd helped him...well, she'd helped Shooter anyhow. Daryl would do anything for that baby; that much he knew with all his being as he sat next to the bassinet that Shooter lay in at the hospital. Thankfully, the baby did not have pneumonia or any of the other horrible things that could go wrong with a baby. It was just a virus, like Beth had said, but the doctor on call wanted to monitor him for a while since Shooter was so young.

Shooter was growing like a weed, but he still looked like a tiny newborn in that crib. It brought back memories of when he was born and Daryl went to the hospital to see him, feeling every bit as helpless that day as he did now. He'd never experienced a feeling like this before, this idle helplessness. He had already walked a divot into the linoleum floor of the small room, pacing back and forth from the bassinet to the door and back again a million times over. Finally, he collapsed into the hard plastic chair next to the bassinet and peered at Shooter through the plastic side. He seemed to be resting comfortably at the moment. At least one of them was getting some sleep. Daryl hadn't slept all night or the day before, or the night before that. He was going on sheer adrenaline and stale hospital coffee, but he didn't feel his own exhaustion. His main focus was on Shooter. He would do anything for this child, and the fact that Shooter lay there sick and suffering and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it, was likely to kill Daryl.

* * *

Beth dragged herself out of bed in time to meet her parents and brother at the 9 a.m. service at First Baptist, the same church her family had always gone to. Nothing had changed over the years, absolutely nothing, not even the Pastor. It still had the same stale basement odor that she had come to regard with affection instead of disgust. It simply made her parents happy when she attended church with them.

After the service Beth stopped by the grocery store for the few groceries she needed for what would be, judging by the number of people coughing in church today, another busy week.

The automatic door whirred on its hinges as it swung open with such force it bounced back half closed. Dodging the door, she opted for a basket instead of cart - the curse of the single woman - she meandered down the aisles trying to wrack her brain to remember what she was out of and decide what sounded good for the week. She didn't really need much. She usually skipped breakfast, then walked down to the diner and ate her lunch quietly at a back booth, enjoying the few minutes of the day she actually got to sit. Then depending on how tired she was, she would just have a simple and quick dinner at home, unless she went to Maggie's or her parents' for dinner.

If she was being honest with herself, by the age she was, she thought she would be preparing breakfasts, lunches and dinners for a family by now. She envied the women at the grocery store that drove the huge carts full of food with three or four towheaded children meandering behind their mother. Sure, the moms looked tired and were short tempered, telling the children that no, they couldn't have chocolate for dinner. But the moms obviously loved their children, as Beth would. The sound of her biological clock tick, tick, ticked so loudly sometimes she wondered if other people heard it. 

Totally depressing herself, she snatched a box of Frosted Flakes, a favorite since childhood, off the shelf when she heard a small voice.

"Hi Dr. Greene."

Beth looked down to see Sophia Peletier clutching a box of Frosted Flakes as well.

"Hey Sophia!" Beth hadn't heard from Carol so she assumed Sophia was doing better and seeing her standing before her, still pale but obviously better. She was even smiling at Beth. "Do you like Frosted Flakes too?" she asked.

Sophia nodded her head enthusiastically. "It's my favorite. Mama says I can only get it once 'n a while."

"That's probably a good idea. It does have a lot of sugar in it."

"Uh huh," Sophia's eyes twinkled mischievously. "But today my Mama said I could get it."

"Lucky girl!" Beth was enjoying the interaction between herself and Sophia. She hoped she would begin to trust Beth. Trust is the basis of any relationship, even that of a doctor and patient. "My Mama was pretty strict on sweets too, but my Daddy always talked her into making something yummy for dessert."

"My daddy gets mad when..." As if remembering where she was and whom she was speaking to, she stopped herself quickly, looking at her feet.

Beth set her basket on the floor, kneeling down on one knee, putting herself at eye level with Sophia and asked, "Your Daddy gets what, Sophia? Does he get mad?"

Sophia nodded her head, clutching the box of cereal to her chest. It was almost as wide as her tiny torso.

Unable to help herself, Beth reached up and tucked a loose strand of her bobbed hair behind the girl's ear. "Well, sometimes parents get mad, it doesn't mean…"

As if she had been holding it in, bottled up, Sophia blurted, "But he gets really, really mad." She looked up at Beth, her eyes telling a horror Beth could only imagine. "He..."

"Sophia? Soph...Oh, there you are."

Carol rounded the corner, pushing a cart of food, toiletries and other weekly shopping items. Seeing her mother, Sophia clammed up - Bam! – and just like that, she reverted back into the shy, quiet child she usually was. Beth stood, patting Sophia on her small shoulder.

"Hello, Carol."

"Dr. Greene," she nodded primly, making sure her large sunglasses were pushed back securely on her face. Beth wondered if she actually thought she was fooling anyone. Looking her over, a deep purple bruise peaked out from the sunglasses. It flowered out to a faded green reaching from her temple to her cheek bone. Wearing a long sleeved hoodie, Carol yanked down the sleeve, but not before Beth noticed the bruising, round, perfect fingerprint shaped, from what appeared to be someone grabbing one's wrist or holding it down with too much force. Beth shuddered to think what other injuries that overly large sweatshirt hid.

"Did ya get your cereal, honey?"

"Yes, Mama." Sophia held up the box and tossed it into the cart.

"Bye now, Doctor," Carol said, purposefully dismissing Beth.

As she pushed the cart past her, Beth lightly touched her forearm, stopping her. Pleading with her eyes, "Carol."

"Don't," Carol said, her voice flat and lacking emotion, her face stern and serious.

That one simple word said everything.

Helpless, she watched as Carol and Sophia made their way down the aisle. Sophia looked back over her shoulder at Beth, her face heartbreakingly sad. So Beth gave a small smile and wink. What else could she do?

* * *

"I'm sorry Beth, but there is nothing we can do."

"What do you mean there's nothing you can do? You're the sheriff, Rick!" Beth couldn't shake this helpless feeling. Her mind said to butt-out, but her heart wouldn't allow it. After purchasing her groceries she went straight to the Sheriff's station. Knowing Shane had Sunday afternoons off, Beth figured it was a safe time to stop by to speak to the Sheriff.

"Unless Carol herself wants to press charges, which we know ain't gonna' happen, or we somehow catch him beating her, my hands are tied."

Beth crossed her arms over her chest and plopped down on the folding chair opposite Rick's desk.

"I could go have a talk with them, but ya' know what will happen as well as I do."

"He'll wait till you leave and beat the hell outta her."

"Yep."

"It's just so….wrong." She decided was the best word.

"It is," Rick agreed. "You can't save everyone, Doc."

As she exited the Sheriff's station, frustration rose in her throat, a force so powerful she wanted to scream. No, she couldn't save everyone but she sure the hell wanted to tell Carol's husband, that sorry excuse of a man, a thing or two. So caught up in her own thoughts she ran smack into someone as she rounded the buildings corner, the man grabbing her by the elbows to steady her.

"I'm so sorry…" raising her eyes to the man that stood before, she saw it was, unfortunately, Shane. "Oh, Shane."

 _Great_. Just what she needed.

"You don't have to sound so disappointed." He looked down on her, still holding her arms. "You come here to see me?"

"Its Sunday, I thought it was your day off."

"I do. Normally. I'm covering for Rick this afternoon, it's his kids birthday. What are you doin' here?"

"Just needed to talk to the Sheriff."

"'Bout what?"

"That's really not your concern." She pulled her arms free of his grasp, took a step back, attempting to go around him. He stepped in front of her, blocking her path.

"Why are ya' bein' such a bitch?"

"Excuse me?" Beth asked, startled, really looking at him for the first time. The first few buttons of his uniform shirt was unbuttoned, per usual, but it was wrinkled and stained. His face was shadowed with stubble and his hair was messy, greasy. And did she detect a hint of alcohol on his breath? Softening a bit, she asked, "What's the matter with you, Shane?"

"My girl dumped me."

Sighing, she said, "I was never your girl, Shane."

"Funny, I thought differently."

* * *

Monday brought another packed waiting room and another busy day. Hoping that diving head first into a long work day would solve her mind's tendency to wander, she worked straight through the day. Her mind still drifting from Shane to Carol to Sophia, to Shooter, to Daryl.

Daryl must have listed her as Shooter's pediatrician when he was filling out the paperwork for the hospital because at the end of the day, when she finally got to go through her messages piled on her desk, she found a faxed update of the baby's condition. She read over the report: no pneumonia or RSV, and just as she suspected, he had contracted a virus. They monitored the child overnight and sent infant and father home with instructions on how to care for a baby with the flu and told Daryl if things progressed for the better, to follow-up at the end of the week with the infant's pediatrician.

Well, Beth thought to herself, she may not be able to help an abused wife and little girl, but she could help a certain baby with the flu. After saying her good-byes to the staff, she got in her Jeep and rode out of town towards Daryl's place.

As she drove further out of town, the houses became sparser and more run down. Every other house seemed to have a dog of some sort chained to a tree or a brick or the dog just ran loose, chasing her tires down the road. The turn in the economy had hit the little town hard; the price of gas, food, and just about everything else went up, and employment went down giving way for poverty to take hold.

Daryl's trailer was not in much better shape than any of his neighbors. _At least it doesn't have a dog in the yard_ , Beth thought to herself as she climbed the rickety steps to the front door. At one time, the trailer was probably white, but time had worn it to a pale shade of yellow. If memory served her correctly, this was the same house Daryl shared with Merle for years. Apparently, Merle had been MIA for some time now. Beth had no idea if Daryl ever heard from him or not, but rumor had it that he was running drugs pretty heavily, escaping the police's radar for years.

Beth took a breath, wishing that she would have at least taken the time to run a brush through her pony-tailed hair, or maybe even stopped at home to change out of her scrubs and bright orange medical crocs. They were comfortable, but attractive they were not. Deciding it was probably best this way, that she'd looked more professional - like a doctor checking on a patient, not a girl trying desperately to save the world, one child at a time.

She knocked on the plastic door, the bumpy surface scratching at her knuckles, lightly at first, then a little harder the second time. She didn't want to wake Shooter if he was by chance sleeping.

When after a moment there was no answer, she began to rethink coming here at all, she refrained from knocking a third time, turned on her heel and tip-toed down the stairs. As her foot hit the third step she heard the creak of a door opening. Rolling her eyes at her own indecisiveness, she turned back around to face a very worn out looking Daryl. Fresh from the shower, his jet black hair was in need of a trim and dripping wet. Water droplets pooled along his bare chest and his jeans were slung dangerously low on his hips, the top buttoned unbuttoned.


	4. Home Visit

"Hey. I umm…" Her eyes, traveled down his torso; her cheeks reddened with a desire she thought she'd buried long ago.

 _This is ridiculous Beth. Compose yourself. You've seen plenty of men without their shirts before._ Of course, none of those men had had quite the effect on her body as this one did.

"I've come to check up on Shooter," she finally said.

What was it about Daryl? What was this spell he seemingly held over her? She was an ER doctor: she could handle three gunshot wounds, a car accident injury and a broken nose all at the same time, but this one man turned her mind to mush.

Daryl looked at her, his expression unreadable, then nodded his head and mumbled, "C'mon in."

Inside the trailer, Beth wasn't quite sure what to expect. Though the house was old, it was tidy and clean. There was a large flat screen TV on one end of the living space and an old but comfortable looking couch along the other wall. A gun cabinet was next to the couch, and by the looks of the numerous firearms that inhabited it, Daryl was preparing for a zombie apocalypse. A cross bow leaned against the cabinet. Two large deer heads hung on the opposite wall, staring at her with their glass eyes.

The kitchen to the right was also clean. Baby bottles were balanced in a dish strainer in the sink. What Beth recognized to be an infant nebulizer to keep Shooter's airways clear was on the small formica table in the center of the kitchen.

There were other signs that a baby inhabited the house, intermixed along with the bachelor-hunter-redneck decor. A baby swing was set up next to the couch; a fleece blanket in bright reds and blues was laid out in the center of the living room. And...was that a Moose? Yes, a stuffed moose with big floppy antlers sat on the armrest of a rocking chair in the corner.

Finally her gaze went back to Daryl who looked more uncomfortable than she, standing by the door with his hands shoved in his pockets.

"You're dripping," she told him.

As if suddenly remembering he had just gotten out of the shower, he looked down at his chest, water dripping from his hair down to the floor. "Damn, be right back," he replied, disappearing down the hall. When he returned he had ran a towel through his hair and, regrettably, put on a t-shirt.

Shoving aside her underlying, and concerning, attraction to half naked Daryl, Beth asked in her most professional manner, "How is Shooter?"

Daryl went to the fridge, taking out a bottle of water, gesturing with it to Beth in offering. She declined. To accept it meant she would have to come within a foot of him, and that would not be a good idea.

"He's better. I gotta' give him this treatment thing," he said, picking up the nebulizer machine, "a few times a day. It seems to hold off his coughing fits."

"Good, and his fever?"

"Last night it went up, but today, it's stayed down."

For a moment, just a quick second, when Daryl saw Beth standing on his doorstep, he'd stupidly thought maybe, just maybe, she had come to see him. It quickly dawned on him why she was really there: Shooter.

His brief disappointment was replaced with relief. Taking care of a sick baby was nerve wracking work. Shooter wasn't a burden, not in the least. He could easily say that those two days in the hospital were two of the worst days of his life. Having Beth here now was reassuring. All alone, his mother long buried. No sisters and Merle was less than useless when he did decide to show up.

Daryl lucked out when he found a woman down the road that babysat once in awhile and agreed to take on Shooter all day. Patricia and her husband, Otis, were a kind, retired couple who loved children. They claimed Shooter was a blessing to them, but Daryl was sure it was the other way around; they were a blessing to him and Shooter. It was Patricia that told him he needed to get Shooter to the doctor.

He took a swig of water, and eyed Beth over the bottle, his body tightening in response, as it always did when he was near her. She was tired after a long day of work, no doubt. Her scrubs were stained, her hair was falling from its ponytail. To him she looked as good as the sun emerging after a torrential downpour.

With her hair falling in cascading tendrils from her ponytail she looked too much like the teenager she once was. The only thing that was different was her eyes. Once they were full of piss and vinegar, optimism and hope. Now they were tired and almost vacant of any of the joy they once held. Her smile didn't reach her eyes anymore. He wanted to ask her what was wrong, what had changed, what had caused the light in her eyes to fade. Instead he took another long swig of water, wishing he still drank alcohol. Getting shit faced drunk sounded very appealing at that precise moment.

His fingers itched to touch her so he wrapped both hands around the water bottle and slunk into a chair on the opposite side of the kitchen table.

"How are you doin'?" Technically, Daryl reasoned, his well-being affected Shooter's, so Daryl was a concern of hers as well. Or so he told himself, not letting his hopes raise too high. "Getting any sleep?"

He rolled his shoulders, and thought he saw her eyes watching him closely as he moved. "Some. Got a couple hours earlier this morning."

 _What time was it anyway_ , he wondered, checking the time on the microwave clock. _Damn. Near six already_. He hoped for a good night's rest; he had to go back to work tomorrow.

From somewhere in the back of the trailer, a small whine sounded. Daryl was up in a second and making his way towards the hallway again.

A quick moment passed before Daryl returned with Shooter. "You remember Dr. Greene, don'tcha Shooter?" he asked the baby he carried in the crook of his arm, his tone an octave higher than his usual deep mumble.

Shooter looked much better. Even from a distance she could see he was breathing easier.

"Hey, Mister," she cooed, motioning to take the baby from Daryl and he handed him off, watching keenly as she talked to him, laying him down on the fuzzy blanket on the floor.

As she listened to his chest, she talked to him softly. Shooter watched her with a fixed stare and a goofy smile, a bit of drool coming from the corner of his mouth. Daryl felt similarly around Beth. She was a natural with him. It made him feel uncomfortably soft in his stomach.

This time when she smiled, her eyes lit up as well. "He looks a lot better." She glanced at Daryl over her shoulder. It was reminiscent of how she looked as a sixteen-year-old kid, a sparkle in her eye, asking him to run her to the store for a soda or asking if she could drive his truck.

Thinking back, she was the only one he let drive it, too. It was a junker he bought for only a few hundred bucks and fixed up, but it was his baby nonetheless. Shawn, his own best friend, wasn't even allowed to touch it. When Beth asked, though, giving him that sweet smile, he caved, wanting nothing more than to make her happy.

_So he opened his door and slid over, letting her climb up into the driver's seat. She drove that old Ford way too fast and way too rough, but she had a blast doing it._

_"Damn girl, slow down." He half-heartedly chided her._

_"Aw. Ya' scared Daryl?"_

_"Hell no! But this is my truck. You best not fuck it up." He reached into the breast pocket of the sleeveless flannel shirt for a pack of Marlboro Reds. Fishing one out with his mouth he lit it, he sat back and tried to enjoy the ride._

_"Now shift into_ _5th," he directed, cringing when the gears screeched in protest as she struggled to find the correct gear. "Jesus, Miss Grind-it-till-you-find-it."_

_She threw him another thousand watt smile and reached for the volume knob, turning up the Metallica that blared over the radio waves to just below deafening._

_He was tempted to kiss the ground when she finally pulled off the main road down a shaded two track. She parked at the edge of a corn field, its blonde stalks swaying like an ocean current in the summer breeze._

_"Now that was fun," Beth giggled, switching off the engine._

_"A heart attack at twenty ain't my idea of a good time."_

" _Almost twenty-one," she offered. The fact that she remembered his birthday every single year made him feel...well...special. Shit, maybe his daddy was right; maybe he was soft._

_"Well then," she angled her body towards his, resting one leg up on the bench seat. "What is your idea of fun?"_

_Was she hitting on him? He couldn't tell. She had that perpetual good girl on the outside, bad girl on the inside look to her. He left the question unanswered, instead taking another drag off his cigarette. Figured it was safest that way._

_They seemed to have gotten past the incident at the pond the year before. He'd done that by ignoring her for a good few months. That kiss had rattled him to his core. He hadn't meant to kiss her back, but, damn it, temptation won him over._

_Lost in the memory of that kiss, he hadn't noticed Beth looking at him thoughtfully._

_When he did finally notice, he asked, "What?" Feeling squirmy under her inspection._

_"This from your Daddy?"_

_He stiffened when she leaned over and brushed a finger over the fading bruise on his left temple. He'd hidden it under his hat but not much ever got past Beth._

_He rolled his shoulder with cool indifference and took another pull of his smoke._

_"Why?"_

_"Why what?"_

_"Why do you let 'im hurt you?" she earnestly whispered._

_He gazed at her through the cloud of smoke that hadn't managed to escape through his open window._

_"Don't know." And he honestly didn't. Technically Daryl was grown. His Daddy was getting old, his body weak from years of drinking and drugs. It would probably just take one half-assed punch to knock him on his ass, but Daryl just couldn't bring himself to do it for some reason._

_"You should give it right back to him. You deserve better Daryl." She spoke with such conviction, he almost...almost... believed it. Tears swam in her eyes and he could not figure out why she cared so much about him. It made his throat ache with unshed emotion. He was just a loser. A nobody. Why did she care about him?_

_They sat a few minutes more in companionable silence, watching as the sun sunk down below the corn field._

_He startled when she reached over the seat, afraid she might try to kiss him again and equally afraid she might not, she snatched his cigarette from between his lips and put it to her own, inhaling deeply._

_She held the smoke for a heartbeat, then two. "Exhale! For Christ's sake, it ain't a joint!"_

_She exhaled, coughing hoarsely. The cough turned into an unladylike like snort-laugh. "Yuck!"_

_He grunted a laugh, rolling his eyes he leaned over and snatched the smoke back from her before she had a chance to take a second drag, and said, "Remember that, don't smoke again."_

. . . 

When Beth was through, she picked Shooter up and forced herself to place him in his baby swing, giving it a little push. She could snuggle him all day. She felt an unexplainable pull to the child. She wanted to not only help Shooter as his physician, but also as a mother would. That idea scared her almost more than her newly recovered feelings for Daryl.

"He's on the mend I think. But just in case, here is my card. My cell number is on it. Call me if you need anything."

"We'll be into the clinic later this week for a checkup. Thanks, Beth." He wanted to say more but didn't know what that 'more' was. Couldn't formulate it into a coherent thought, forget putting it into words.

As he walked past her to open the door, his hand brushed past hers, sending sparks up her arm, across her chest into her heart. Whether he did it on purpose or not, she wasn't sure. She brought her tingling fingertips up to her lips, feeling eternally like a teenager with a crush on a boy.

Beth took one last look around; there were no telltale signs of a woman. No woman's jacket hung on the hook by the door next to Daryl's Cutt. No sandals or flip flops on the mat. No woman's touches to be found anywhere; this was a definite bachelor pad.

She was Shooter's Doctor, nothing more. Still, none of that changed her curiosity about Shooter's mother. _This is ridiculous_ , she told herself. She was the one that left all those years ago. Though she hadn't dated much, it wasn't because she wasn't free to do so, just as Daryl was free to do what he pleased. They were never a couple anyhow. Either way, Beth couldn't shake this gnawing jealousy of some woman, a virtual stranger in her eyes, having Daryl's first child.

"Well, call me if you need anything," she repeated.

He nodded, and for a moment he simply gazed at her, as if examining her, watching her with his hunter's eyes as she fiddled with her bag, with her cell phone, looking around the trailer. If he wasn't off his mark, he sensed fear. Fear of what, he was unsure.

_Just open your mouth. Ask me to stay a little longer._

But he didn't.

Beth finally said her goodbyes and left him with his lingering confusion. 


	5. We Were Friends

The visit with Daryl had left her unnerved. So much went left unsaid, as usual. At least one good thing came from it: reassurance that Shooter was on the road to recovery.

But now what?

Nothing. Life went on. It was best, she determined, to go on and not involve Daryl in her life. They weren't right for each other, plain and simple. If that were true, though, why was he all she could think about? The way he held Shooter, his obvious affection for the baby, picking up where the baby's mother left off, seemingly with no reluctance. The way he looked at Beth with such intensity that she worried he could read her thoughts.

Deciding she needed a pick-me-up, Beth took Maggie up on her open ended dinner invitation. As she drove down Maggie's driveway, she reminded herself that she wasn't a lovesick kid anymore; she was an adult. She needed to think with her mind, not her heart. She had no room in her life for complications right now.

"How's work? Hire a secretary yet?" Maggie asked the moment Beth walked through the kitchen door. She stood at the counter chopping cucumbers for the salad they were having with dinner, her back to her.

"Work's busy, and no. We are waiting for your kids to go to school full time so you can help us."

Michael and Molly, Glenn and Maggie's 3 year old identical twins, went to preschool three half days a week. Next school year they would go five half days a week and Maggie was already dreading the quietness the house would take on while they were gone.

"Ha!" Maggie snorted, "Fat chance."

"Aunt Beth, Aunt Beth!" Molly came barreling down the stairs, skipping the bottom two steps and running across the floor, leaping straight up into Beth's arms, who swiftly caught her. The girl had dark wavy hair, sharp green eyes and her father's olive skin. Even is Beth was biais, her niece was beautiful. 

"Hey, bug. How's my favorite girl?"

"I'm great!"

Scooping up the cucumbers into a bowl then finally turning around, she asked "Did you wash your hands, Molly?"

Ignoring her mother, she buried her face into Beth's shoulder.

"Oh no, I won't protect you from your Mama's wrath. Come on, let's wash your hands." Beth carried her over to the sink, turning on the warm water, waiting for the right temperature and placed Molly's hands in between her own under the running water. Molly obliged Beth, and didn't argue.

"I swear, if they listened to me half as well as they listen to you, my days would be a lot easier." Maggie laughed then her eyes squinted, scrutinizing her sister.  "Hey, what's up? Somethin' wrong?"

Busying herself with the task of helping Molly wash her hands, Beth avoided eye contact. "Nothin'."

Maggie was linked to Beth. Being six years older, she was in a lot of ways, a second mother to Beth. Always knew when Beth was sad or upset or didn't feel well. It had its positive sides, as well as its drawbacks, one of the drawbacks being that she could never hide anything from her.

"Beth," she said in her most motherly tone.

"Maggie," Beth mimicked.

Maggie swatted at her with a dish towel, taking over her place at the sink to help Molly down from the stepstool, handing her the towel so she could dry her hands. "You gonna make me nag it outta ya'?"

"Well gee, Mom," she emphasized the word 'mom'. "As much as I know you'd love that, I'm fine."

"Yeah, sure ya are," Maggie quipped, not believing her for a second. "Come on, cough it up. Is it work? They work you like a dog there. You look so tired."

"Hey, thanks sis," she said, subconsciously smoothing her hand over her pony-tailed hair. It was no doubt she was a disheveled mess since she hadn't so much as ran a brush through it since five that morning. "They do work me like a dog, but I love it."

Beth was doing everything she could to avoid eye contact with Maggie, wiping out the already clean sink, then drying it, straightening the spices that were lined up along with back counter, taking her phone out of her pocket, checking for messages.

"Uh huh," Maggie made a clicking noise with her tongue, eyeing Beth curiously. "Is Shane giving you shit again?"

"Mommy!" Molly admonished her mother's use of bad language.

"Sorry baby," Maggie said, bending to place a kiss on Molly's cheek. "Why don't you go put the napkins on the table?" She handed her daughter the paper napkins from the basket on the counter. Molly happily skipped off to the dining room.

"So is he?"

"Is who what?" Beth asked, feigning dumb.

"You know who and what. Want Glenn to go talk to Shane? Tell him to back off?"

"Maggie! No. Don't you dare." Unfortunately Maggie had been at the clinic to witness Shane's less than happy exit. Maggie already disliked him based on sisterly code, so Beth hadn't told her about bumping into him at the Sheriff's office.

Maggie, leaned against the counter, crossing her arms over her chest and kicking out her feet, like she had all the time in the world to grill her sister.

"Spill it."

Giving into her fate, she took a deep breath and faced Maggie. "What do you know about Shooter Dixon?"

"Shooter Dixon?" Momentarily perplexed, Maggie frowned in thought. "Oh, Daryl's baby? That's what he named him?"

"Well, it's a nickname I guess." A nickname that fit the baby perfectly if anyone asked Beth, which of course no one did. "But what about his mother?"

Momentarily relieved that that wasn't the baby's real name, Maggie answered, "I don't know anything about the baby's mother. It was just like one day he had a baby with him. He wasn't seein' anyone that I know of. I didn't hear any rumors about him getting a woman pregnant. Why?" Maggie asked suspiciously, narrowing her eyes.

"No reason. Just curious," she fibbed. "What's he been up to since I left?" Beth tried her best to sound nonchalant, but Maggie was no dummy.

Beth hadn't kept touch with Daryl while she was in New York. Daryl wasn't a writing letters and keeping up with correspondence kind of guy. The last time she saw him was the night before she left. And now she was back in his life, it would appear. Via Shooter, anyhow.

"Beth...you need to stay away from him, ya' hear me?" Maggie spoke sternly.

"I'm Shooter's doctor."

"And that's all well and good but you need to leave Daryl be."

Feeling unnecessarily defensive, Beth looked her sister in the eye, "Why do ya' say that?"

"I'm sure he's a nice enough guy, but that brother of his that he seems to follow around like a little lost puppy is no good. I hear he's into dealing drugs. You don't need to involve yourself with that family."

"So? Just 'cause his brother is a low-life doesn't mean Daryl is. You figure…"

"I figure where there's smoke there's fire," Maggie finished for her. "And yes, I believe that."

It was absurd of Maggie to suggest such a thing. She doesn't know Daryl, or Merle for that matter. The mere suggestion brought up Beth's hackles. "Daryl and I go way back."

"I know. And I didn't like it then. Just stay away from him," Maggie warned again.

"Maggie, I appreciate your concern. I am an adult, perfectly capable of making my own decisions."

Maggie's face was beginning to turn a shade of pink that often came with anger. She was the big sister in every aspect, including the one where she tells everyone what to do with their business.

Beth breathed a sigh of relief when their conversation was momentarily interrupted by Glenn and Michael coming through the kitchen door.

"Aunt Beth," Michael thrilled. She scooped him up just as she had Molly, smothering his face with kisses.

"Ick!" Michael rebuffed, pushing away, laughing deep in his belly, jumping from her arms.

She went to Glenn giving him a loud kiss on the cheek also. He, like his son, said," Yuck!" but with just as much affection as Michael did.

Looking from Beth to Maggie, feeling the tension in the room, Glenn cautiously asked, "Hey Beth. What's up?"

Before Beth had a chance respond or better yet, change the subject, Maggie asked, "Do you know anything about Daryl's baby mama?"

"Maggie!" She didn't want to discuss this to begin with, especially with her brother-in-law.

"Daryl's baby mama?" Glenn asked, confused. "Oh, you mean the baby's mother? What did he name him anyway?"

"William. But no, she doesn't mean that. Can we drop it now and eat? Micheal are ya' hungry?" Michael was at the sink washing his hands.

"Uh huh!"

"See the boy's starving, let's go eat." Putting an end to the convention, she scooped up Michael with one arm, shoving the dishtowel into his wet hands and grabbed the bowl of salad with the other. She made a run for the safety of the dining room. "Come on, let's eat! Grab those steaks!" she hollered back over her shoulder.

"What's up with her?" Glenn asked Maggie.

"I think her past is coming back to haunt her."

"What's that mean?"

Maggie rolled her eyes at her husband. "Two words: Daryl Dixon. He seems to be getting under her skin again."

"Again? You're forgetting I didn't grow up here. I don't know everyone's business from childhood on up."

"She's been in love with Daryl since we were kids. Won't admit it aloud, 'course. But I know her better than she knows herself. Sounds to me like those feelings didn't fade with distance, like I hoped."

"Maggie, don't interfere." Glenn warned. Trying to take the sting out of his words, he wrapped his arms around her waist. Pulling her close, he nuzzled her neck, taking advantage of a few seconds alone with his wife.

"Who's interferin'?" she asked, enjoying the feel of her husband's lips on her neck. Having kids sure put a damper on sex in the kitchen.

"Maggie," Glenn warned against her ther skin. 

"Would y'all quit makin' out in there and get in here so we can eat!" Beth yelled from the dining room, interrupting the two of them.

"What's makin' out?" Michael asked in his innocent three year old way.

"Thanks, Beth," Glenn sarcastically said, regrettably relinquishing hold of Maggie.

* * *

 

"Hey, I 'preciate the time off." Daryl told Shawn, wiping his hands on the rag he kept in his back pocket, leaning against Shawn's desk. Daryl had been at work since before dawn, trying to catch up on the time he'd lost when he was off with the baby. Both he and the baby had slept well the past few nights and he was beginning to feel like a person again.

Shawn brushed off his thanks with a shrug of his shoulder. "Ain't nothin'. You're a good mechanic. I know you wouldn't leave me high and dry."

"You got other mechanics…" Any other boss would've fired him with no questions asked.

"None near as good with bikes as you are."

The Greene's were great people, something Daryl was always aware of, but was recently reminded of it. Shawn giving him as much time off as needed; Beth helping the baby when he just showed up on her doorstep out of the blue. Annette Greene had even dropped off a casserole to his house the day after they got home from the hospital. They had always been good to him, with the exception of Maggie. It was something he could never figure out. They didn't owe him anything. They just did it to be kind. 

"How's Shooter?" Shawn inquired.

"Better. Thanks to your sister."

Shawn briefly looked up from the stack of paperwork before him, "Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah, she was really good with him, stopped out to the house the other day just to check on him."

"Did she now?" _I'll be. Daryl is blushing._

"Yeah. She's…amazing. With Shooter I mean." _What the hell, Dixon. This is a mechanics garage, not a therapist's office,_ he scolded himself.

Deciding a change of subject would be best, he said, "I gotta take Shooter for a checkup on my lunch break. Just to make sure he's okay. I'll be back afterward to finish up my shift."

"Uh huh, sure. No problem." It took everything Shawn had to not laugh at his friend. The doctor he referred to was Beth, of course. It wasn't that she was Shooter's doctor, it was the way he squirted around that detail.

Shawn watched as Daryl walked through the bay door to his truck, hopped in and took off. If someone told him his lifelong friend, known hellraiser and wild child, would grow up one day to be a dad, and a damn good one at that, he would have laughed in their face. Daryl had always been a good friend. Need someone to help you out when you plant your truck in a ditch? Call Daryl. Need someone to vent to about your girlfriend? Call Daryl. Need someone to get drunk with? Call Daryl. He was a loyal friend and great confidant. But daddy? Shawn never would've thought.

It always made Shawn nervous, seeing the friendship between Daryl and Beth. It wasn't because Daryl treated her poorly. No, he probably treated her better than he treated anyone. It was the way he looked at Beth when he thought no one else was looking that made him uneasy. The look that clearly said he had more feelings for her than that of a friend.

As far as Shawn was concerned, Daryl was a wild animal that no one could ever tame. And Shawn didn't want to see his sister set up for that kind of life - getting married right out of high school, getting pregnant soon thereafter with the first of six. Daryl catting around on her, showing up at home only occasionally, spending what little money had on drugs and alcohol. It was what Daryl had grown up with and Shawn had, wrongly, thought Daryl would be the same. Shawn firmly believed that Beth deserved better than that. No one was good enough for his baby sister. She was better than this town, she had big dreams and she was worthy to have every one of those dreams come true.

Even if he was only being protective of his baby sister, for Shawn to admit that he once felt that way about a good friend, and now seeing what a good man Daryl had grown up to be, it brought a reddened hue of embarrassment to his cheeks. Daryl had grown into a good man, and a good provider for the baby. 

If Shawn was shooting from the hip, he thought Daryl was joking when he came to him that day months ago asking for a job. Said he had a kid to take care of now and wanted to live his life the right way. Almost laughed until he saw his friend was dead serious. He gave him a job without hesitation. Not only to help a friend out but because he was a damn good mechanic and he hadn't regretted the choice once.

Shawn had seen that same look Daryl used to give Beth come over his face again when he casually brought her up today. He was no expert in love, here he was in his mid-thirties and still a bachelor, but he would say Daryl still had feelings for Beth...and Maggie was going to have a field day if anything came of it and wouldn't that be fun? Returning to his paperwork, he smiled to himself.

* * *

"Well, if it's not my favorite patient." Beth said, after knocking and entering the examination room.

Daryl was standing with his back to the door. Looking out the window, watching as the rain beat down on the glass, wearing a navy blue button up work uniform that Shawn required his mechanics to wear, snug Levi's accentuating his behind. Worn out work boots completed the hard working, blue collar look. Models in three-piece suits held nothing to this man in a basic work uniform. The baby he held over his shoulder didn't hurt things either.

Turning around to face her, he grinned that half grin he always had. It still made her heart palpitate. "Hey Doc."

"How's Shooter feeling these days?"

"He's doin' good, I think. Hard to tell sometimes."

"You'll get better at gauging how he's feeling as time goes on. Most of the time it's just a guessing game when they are this little," she reassured Daryl.

Taking Shooter from him, holding him in her arms just a moment longer than she normally would with any other infant patient. Reluctantly, she laid him down on the papered bench, unsnapping his one piece outfit. Fuzzy terry cloth, pale green with a little bear face on the bottom. She thought of Daryl picking it out for him this morning, taking into consideration the cold, wet weather. Imagining Daryl putting it on him after a bottle and fresh diaper made her heart swell in her chest. What was it about a big tough man with a soft heart deep down?

She slipped him carefully into the cradle of the infant scale, noting down his weight. "Looks like he's gained a few pounds since his hospital stay. That's good."

"Yeah, he's pretty hungry all the time."

"Let's see, he's about five months. You can try some cereal, couple times a day. Should fill him up a little bit better than just formula."

Confused, Daryl asked, "Cereal? Like Cheerios?"

Swallowing her chuckle because when she looked up from Shooter she found Daryl to be serious. "No, Cheerios will come later. This is different. Sold next to the baby formula at the grocery store."

"Oh, okay…"

Beth felt for him. It had to be tough, being a single dad with little to no experience with babies. "It comes in a box about this big," she gestured with her hands, "they are flakes, mix them with water or his formula into a paste…feed it to him with a spoon."

Daryl still looked helpless. Almost too eager to help, she suggested, "I can pick some up for you. Show you what you need to do." Just a doctor helping out a dad, that's all, she told herself. Nothing more.

Daryl didn't really want to accept help from anyone, not even Beth. What choice did he have? He was clueless when it came to this stuff. It was for Shooter, he justified. "Thanks." He looked down at his feet, chewing on his thumb nail. "That'd be good."

Finishing up her examination, she buttoned his clothes back up and cradled him once again in her arms. Such a good baby, not even fussing and soon his eyes grew heavy with the swaying of her body.

Peering at Daryl out the top of her eyes, watching him watching her, she teased, "See now, isn't this easier than showing up on my doorstep?" 

Smiling bashfully, Daryl took a step toward them, this beautiful woman holding the baby...his son. His hand ached to touch her; his lips yearned for her skin.

"I...I appreciate your help."

"It's my job," she told him, looking back to Shooter.

"Coming out to my house, helping like you did that night when I showed up at your house, helping with the cereal. That's not in your job description."

"I wanna help." She placed a now sleeping Shooter back into his car seat that sat on the floor. Buckling him back in. "Daryl…" she said, turning back around to find herself toe to toe with her past. "Daryl, I want to help you too. Not only Shooter." She slid her body closer to him, looking up into his steely blue eyes.

His jawbones jutted out, flexed, his voice a deep whisper, "Why? Why do you want to help me?"

Taking a chance, she reached her hand out and intertwined her fingers with his. She felt the words fill her hollow chest, felt them form on her tongue but they got stuck somehow. Daryl lifted his free hand, his knuckles brushing the hair that she had worn down that day away from her face, leaving a line of fire tracing across her skin.

She stated simply, "We were...friends. Right?" 

"Uh-huh," he mumbled, his thumb circling the skin on the back of her hand. "Was a long time ago. Some things don't change."

"Hey Beth, phone call for you," Sasha announced, walking into the examination room. Beth looked away from Daryl, somewhat surprised the room wasn't filled with steam, as a bathroom is after a hot shower. Daryl let her hand fall and she stepped away from him, only inches feeling like miles. Sasha, who was looking at a chart, didn't appear to notice the disquieted heaviness in the room.

"Thanks, Sasha."

"No problem," she said as she left, leaving the door open.

"So," Beth cleared her throat, wishing she could clear her mind just as easily. "Tonight. Come by around supper time. I'll help you with the cereal."


	6. Chaperone

**Thank you for reading and commenting!**

* * *

 

By passing off her last patient of the day to Dr. Ty, Beth was able to swing by the grocery store, pick up the baby cereal as well as a small plastic tipped baby spoon and get home with time enough to shower before Daryl and Shooter were due to come over.

She knew it was ridiculous to fret over what she would wear, but that was exactly what she was doing as she stood in front of her tiny closet wrapped in a towel, fresh from the shower.

"Oh, you're being silly, Beth." She scolded herself out loud. "Just pick something and get dressed or you'll be answerin' the door in a towel…" putting her finger to her lips, tapping in thought, "Although maybe that wouldn't be such a bad thing."

Rolling her eyes at herself, she grunted, "No, no, no! Ugh!"

She quickly snatched a casual, grey sweater and a pair of jeans off their hangers. 

"Great, now I'm talkin' to myself. I really should get a cat, or dog, or a goat. Somethin!"

All dressed, Beth was running a brush through her hair when she heard Daryl's truck pull up in the drive. Throwing her brush onto her bed, she checked her reflection in the mirror and regretted her decision of no makeup. She looked tired. Oh well, too lat now. She ran to met them at the kitchen door.

Daryl had left the car seat in the truck and carried Shooter in his arms. Looking through the glass window pane she could see he was talking to the baby but could not hear what he was being said. The baby was thoroughly enjoying whatever it was though, because Shooter was smiling an opened mouth gummy smile that would warm the coldest person's heart.

As they climbed the porch steps Beth opened the door to them. "Hey there. Looks like someone's in a good mood."

Shooter looked toward the sound of Beth's voice, recognizing her he gave her a sweet smile, his eyes sending daggers straight through to her heart.

"I think he likes you." Daryl stated as he passed the threshold into the kitchen.

"Well, the feelings mutual." She reached her hands out and Shooter easily went to her, snuggling his face into her shoulder. "I picked up the cereal," she said motioning to the box on the counter.

She spoke, he knew she did, but he was too mesmerized by her to hear what she said. Her hair glistened from a recent shampoo, her skin fresh and glowing. She looked relaxed, he thought, unlike the few other times he had seen her frenzied and uncomfortable in his presence.

"Daryl?" she questioned, looking over her shoulder, taking a small bowel from the open shelf that ran along the wall.

"Huh? What?" She brought him back from his thoughts.

"I asked if you brought his formula?"

"Uhh yeah." He set the black canvas bag that they sent Shooter home with from the hospital with when he was born on the table and fished out the can of formula. He knew carrying a diaper bag was less than masculine but it was necessary to transport all the things Shooter needed; diapers, wipes, a change of clothing. And formula.

He took the can to the counter standing at least a good foot from Beth, he removed the plastic lid from the can. One handed with Shooter on her hip, Beth scooped a half spoonful of the white powder and dumped it into the bowel. Then deftly opened the box of baby cereal. Daryl had seen Patrica handle the baby on one hip while doing a multitude of tasks with the other. He marveled at a woman's dexterity.

And, damn it, he was staring again.

"Okay, so you put some formula in the bowel," she showed him the powder in the bowel, then picked up the box of cereal.

"This is rice cereal, but it comes in other flavors. Rice tends to be easier for babies to digest. Then you add it to the formula."

Daryl was feeling more unsure of himself by the second. He knew next to nothing about babies, and as time went on, that fact became more obvious. Motorcycles made sense. Something doesn't run correctly, you take it apart. Figure out what's amiss. Repair and reassemble it. But to Daryl, babies were a conundrum. Same goes for women. He didn't even pretend to understand them. 

After adding a couple shakes of the cereal flakes to the bowel she ran it under a dribble of water from the faucet. "Then you just mix it up." She did so balancing Shooter in the crook of her left arm, holding the bowl with her left hand, holding the spoon in her right she mixed the concoction.

"See, it makes a paste. Don't want it too thick but thick enough for 'im to feel it on his tongue."

"Here. I'll hold him. You feed him." She handed Daryl the bowel and she sat at the table with the baby in her lap. The bowel and tiny spoon felt diminutively small in his large hand, making him feel big and clumsy. He pulled out the chair next to Beth and placed it in front of them.

Shooter began smacking his lips. "See he's hungry, daddy."

 _Daddy?_ Oh yeah, that would be him. Daryl scooped up the beige colored gunk and put it to Shooters lips. He tentatively tasted it then made the saddest face he had yet to see the baby make.

"I don't think he likes it."

"Aw, it's just different texture than what he's use to. See he's eating it." And sure enough he was. And opening his mouth for another bite.

Beth giggled at the baby's reaction. "He's just adorable Daryl. Such a good baby."

"He is. I got lucky." And he knew that was the truth. One day, his life was turned upside down by this tiny human. Shooter needed him in a way no one ever had. And Daryl quickly realized he needed Shooter just as much. He'd been following Merle around, following his lead, for way too long. It was time to man-up. Be the person he always wanted to be.

"He's lucky to have you." Beth casually stated.

Daryl ignored Beth's comment, unsure how to react to it. He shoveled another spoonful of cereal into Shooters open mouth. Beth leaned forward, put her hand on his knee, waiting for him raise his eyes to hers. And when he did, she spoke quietly. "He is."

He rolled his shoulders. "What do I know about babies? I didn't even know to feed him cereal. Didn't even know there was a such a thing as baby cereal."

Daryl saw the look of shock on people's faces when he said he had a son now. He heard their whispers behind his back. He knew what people thought of him. He couldn't give a shit less what they thought of him, but it wasn't fair of people to judge Shooter by who is family was. Shooter deserved better than that. As far as he figured, Shooter deserved better than him.

"Aw I think you woulda' discovered it before you started feeding him pizza." She teased, a sparkle in her eye.

"I'm not sure about that."

"You're doin' the best you can and that's all ya' can do."

Shooter had had his fill and was now spitting the cereal out of his mouth and down his chin. Daryl set the bowel on the table and rose to the sink to dampen the washcloth Beth had the mind to have ready. With his back to Beth he said, "What if my best isn't good enough?"

He was not one to talk about his feelings. He'd always felt comfortable with Beth, knew she would never make fun of him or tell others his insecurities.

"Daryl." Beth rose, not at all concerned about the cereal the baby had gotten all over her sleeve. "I can help…"

He held out a hand to stop her from going further. "Don't." Frustration surged through his veins, and as usual it turned into anger. "I'm not a fuckin' charity case."

Beth knew not to take his words personally. His words were said without malice.

Turning to face her, he immediately said, "I'm sorry Beth. I didn't mean it that way".

"I know." She took the washcloth from him and whipped Shooters face which he protested with a shrill squawk.

"It's okay Daryl. Don't be so hard on yourself. It's not easy being a parent, even for someone that is totally prepared for it. But you will figure it out. " she said with certainty.

She took Shooter into the living room and, once again one handed spread an old blanket on the floor and laid Shooter down. Standing back up she faced Daryl who leaned against the door frame, and he asked, "How can you be so sure?"

He needed her reassurance. No one ever had believed in him. Except Beth. She made everything seem doable. As though he was actually capable of this seemingly insurmountable task of raising a child.

"Because you're a smart man. I see the way you look at Shooter. You love him. You will do right by him."

She said it so simply, like it was fact. And now she was standing in front of him, well within reach, looking up at him with those serious, soulful eyes.

Looking at his feet, he wondered aloud, "What if I'm like my old man?" It was a worry he'd had since day one.

"Don't say that. You're not like him, not even close."

Daryl's resolve not to touch Beth crumbled and he placed his hand on Beth's hip, curling his fingers inward, grasping at the fabric of her jeans, pulling her to him. She took a step closer and closing his eyes Daryl leaned his brow to hers.

Beth claimed to want to help, not only Shooter but him as well. But why?

"Why are ya' bein' so nice to me?"

He knew she had cared for him. Once, a long time ago. But now...

* * *

 

_"Hey, Shawn! Ya' in here?" Daryl yelled as he pulled open_ _the_ _barn door on its slide hinge. He'd been looking for Shawn all evening. He wasn't at the shop and his truck was missing from its spot in the driveway. Sometimes, if Shawn had chores to do he parked his truck in the barn. But there was no sign of him here either. Daryl shrugged, figuring he'd met up with the girl he'd been trying to charm for a month or so now and took off with her.  
_

_He began to close the door again when he heard giggles flow out from the darkness of the barn._

_"What the hell?  Hello?" Again stifled giggles. Following the musical laugh he looked up. As his eyes adjusted to the darkened hayloft he could make out the outline of a blonde haloed head._

_"Beth? That you?"_

_"Nope." It was Beth, but she sounded funny._

_Stepping into the middle of the barn, he asked, "What the hell you doin' up there?"_

_"Oh, nothin'." More giggles._

_Sauntering to the bottom of the ladder that led to the hayloft he asked, "Why dontcha come on down?"_

_"Why dontcha come up?" She countered. "Unless ya scared?"_

_"I ain't scared-a nothin." He mumbled half-heatedly, climbing the rungs of the ladder, till his head peaked up over the top of the loft flooring._

_Beth leaned back against a makeshift seat of hay bales. A bale under her behind and two stacked up behind her. He eyed her suspiciously. Her hair was a bit tangled, the sexy mussed look it took on after she'd been outside all day riding her horse, doing chores. In her reclined position soft supple skin peaked out from her midriff. Her long legs, bronzed from the tail-end of the summer's sun, stemmed out from short cut-offs. And Daryl's mouth watered._

_She turned seventeen that September, he knew this because he'd been invited to her birthday party. He didn't go, of course, bunch of kids and family hanging around a bonfire was not his thing. No, he didn't attend, but he did walk through the woods to watch from afar. She looked so happy. Like the world sat at her feet, which it did, just waiting for her to dangle her toes in. She would head off to college the next fall and Daryl refused to believe that hollow ache in his chest was due to her leaving._

_In her hand reflected the gold and white can of Miller Lite. A six pack sat at her feet, one beer missing._

_"Hey Daryl." She all but purred, a sleepy smile on her face. Beth wore her feelings on her sleeve and though she wore a smile, her eyes told a different story._

_"Whaddya' you drinkin' that nasty shit for?" Daryl guessed it was what Shawn kept hid in a cooler in the barn. It was cheap and got the job of getting drunk done._

_"I don't know. I had a shitty day." The foul language sounded strange coming from such a pretty mouth._

_She scooted over on the bale of hay, "Have a seat."_

_He climbed the rest of the way up the ladder, standing in front of her, but refused to sit. Distance was his friend when it came to Beth Greene.  
_

_She eyed him, head tilted back, head cocked to the side, "Something wrong?"_

_In reply, Daryl's eyes drifted to the beer she held in her hand._

_"What? I know you and Shawn drink. Why can't I?"_

_"Cause you're seventeen."_

_She gave him knowing look. One that said she knew all of his secrets._

_Trying again, he said, "Cause that shit is nasty."_

_"Oh? And what would you suggest I drink?"_

_He paced to the back of the loft, looking out over the darkening sky through the open door where hay was loaded into the loft._

_"Nothin'..." He was beginning to feel like a hypocrite. Who was he to lecture her on drinking. He'd done enough drinking and drugs for a lifetime by the time he was her age. Nowadays, though, he didn't drink much of anything. Stayed away from drugs completely, determined to be nothing like his father._

_He turned from the window to find Beth standing directly behind him._

_"Geeze Daryl. Dontcha ever want to have any fun?"_

_Her expression was innocence but he saw the look in her eyes that dared him. What it dared him to do he wasn't quite sure._

_He walked around her, careful to keep his body from brushing past hers and walked back to the ladder. "Well, come on then," he grumbled, "I'll show ya' what a real drink is."_

_Beth shimmed down the ladder quicker than a jack rabbit running from a coyote, skipping the last two rungs and tried to appear casual as she climbed into his truck. She loved Daryl's truck. It was old and stunk like a mechanics garage but she loved every second she spent in it with him._

_She knew she shouldn't have taken Shawn's beer but she was curious what it tasted like, what all the fuss was about. It was cold and wet, that was about the extent of it. If anything, it made her feel sleepy. It had been a bad day. And isn't that what people did when they had a bad day? Kicked back and had a beer?_

_. . ._

_A thrill ran up Beth's spine when they pulled into Daryl's driveway, followed by sadness. This is where Daryl grew up. The days melancholy threatened to overpower what little buzz she had gotten from the beer. The house was hidden down a long driveway in the middle of a thicket of trees. If one didn't know it was there beforehand, they'd miss it completely. It wasn't much more than a shack. A hodgepodge of different building materials barley holding the house up. The door was a sheet of plywood with a sawed off 2x4 for a latch. One of the front window was covered by a plastic tarp. Beth wondered what it was like to grow up in such a place. She knew she was fortunate to grow up in a large home, on a farm, with loving parents. A tug of homesickness pulled her. Silly, she thought. She just left home, will go back later tonight.  
_

_"Ya' comin'? He asked, standing outside the open driver side door. She had never meant Daryl's dad or brother before and she had no desire to._

_Reading her expression, he reassured her. "Don't worry. No ones here."_

_Inside the shack the air was thick, oppressive. Stale cigarette smoke hung in the air. An old sofa, with the stuffing protruding from one cushion, was pushed up against the wall. A camouflage recliner was tucked into the corner. An old television was balanced precariously on a rickety old tray. A pizza box was on the floor alongside newspaper littering the shag carpeting. Her eyes fell to a bright pink bra shaped statue turned into a makeshift ashtray on the floor next to the recliner._

_She picked it up by a ceramic bra strap, and snorted "What the...?"_

_Daryl rolled his eyes, "Don't ask." He disappeared into the kitchen, rifled through a cupboard and returned carrying two mason jars of clear liquid, placing them onto the scared coffee table._

_Beth sat on the floor in front of the table and took one jar in her hand, inspecting the contents, which to her, looked like cloudy water. "What's this?"_

_Daryl sat on the floor on the other side of the table, his back leaning on the recliner. "Aintcha' ever seen moonshine before?"_

_Feeling young and dumb, she rolled her eyes and opened the jar, taking a big gulp, hardly getting it down before choking out a cough. Between wheezes she hissed, "Wow. That's strong."_

_"Yep, it'll kick your pretty lil ass." Daryl smirked at her and nodded. "There's one thing my daddy's good at. 'N that's makin' shine."_

_Beth took another drink, much smaller this time. The fire burned pleasantly down the back of her throat. She picked up the other unopened jar and handed it to Daryl. "Here, this one's for you."_

_"Na'."_

_"What? Are ya' my chaperone?"_

_"Just drink lottsa' water."_

_"Yes sir, Mr. Dixon, sir." She offered the jar to him again, "Come on." She pleaded, her lips turning up into that smile that would make him say yes to anything her heart desired. "Don't make me drink alone."_

_He hesitated. Then took the jar from her, unscrewing the lid, he took a long pull of the familiar liquid._

_Beth watched him, watching her over the top of the mason jar. Here she was, drinking with him. Just the two of them. She couldn't wait to tell her best friend Amy. Maggie would freak if she found out. And her parents would not approve. The thrill of mischievous rebellion quaked in her belly. Maybe the day wasn't such a washout after all._

_. . ._

_After about an hour they were pleasantly buzzed. Beth more so than Daryl._

_As the time went by and the liquid in the jar lowered, they flowed from easy conversation to companionable silence. This is what she liked about spending time with Daryl, she didn't feel the need to fill the space with idle chit-chat._

_"Do you have a bathroom?" Beth finally got the courage to ask, feeling like she might burst._

_"Na'. We just piss in the woods."_

_Beth froze, then the corner of Daryl's lip twitched into a half smile and he pointed. "Through there."_

_He watched those long legs and curvy ass as she strode away, feeling himself growing hard for her. Taking a moment while Beth was gone, he ran his hand through his hair and mumbled, "What the fuck am I doin?"_

_He probably should know better, matter of fact, he did know better than to bring Beth here. But it was obvious she needed a friend and wanted to blow off some steam. At least he could keep an eye on her here. Along that train of thought he poured a portion of her alcohol into his jar, hoping she wouldn't notice. She hadn't had that much to drink. Still ,if you take into consideration she most likely never drank before tonight and doesn't weigh a buck five wet, less is probably better._

_She swayed a bit when she returned from the bathroom her eyes glassy, her limbs moved heavily and uncoordinated. Instead of taking back her position across the table, she plopped down on the floor next to Daryl._

_Not too many girls he knew wanted to be so close to him. The women he knew were not good girls. When he met someone he wanted there were no pretenses, on either end. Beth was different, though. She was a good girl. Probably the best he knew. And Daryl didn't want to taint her with his grubby hands._

_"Daryl. What's wrong with me?"_

_Taken aback by her question, he eyed her curiously from the corner of his eye. "You're drunk, that's whas' wrong."_

_"That's not what I mean."_

_"Then what do you mean?"_

_"Why don't boys like me?"_

_"Who doesn't like you?" Daryl felt a sudden protectiveness come over him. He'd beat anyone's ass that hurt her._

_"Just a boy at school. His name's Zack. I thought he liked me, but he left school today with Mary Jane Whiticker. The school slut."_

_"'S that whats got ya' upset? If some jackass cain't see what's right in front of him, then he ain't worth your time."_

_She shrugged her shoulder. "Maybe if I drank more," she took the last sip of moonshine from her jar. "Or wore tighter clothes. Or was prettier. Or easy." Her voice hiccuped with emotion._

_Daryl's head snapped to attention. Panic ran up his spine. Fuck, now she's crying. "What the hell you talkin' 'bout, girl? Ya' the smartest person I know." And that was no lie._

_"Guys don't like smart."_

_"Those guys don't matter none." The alcohol had a loosening affect on his tongue. "You're smart, and… you're beautiful, Beth."_

_"That so? She asked, sniffling back tears._

_"Yeah. Sweet. Caring. I mean, no one's ever cared 'bout me the way you do. Not my brother, daddy. No one 'cept you. And your family."_

_"Well, maybe I'm tired of being sweet?"_

_Deep in thought, she slowly spun the jar in circles on the wooden table top. He was keenly aware of her breasts pressing against his bare upper arm. He watched her long, delicate fingers twirl on the glass. Felt the moist air of her breath on his ear, his neck._

_"Daryl, look at me," She said in a barely audible whisper._

_He was no pansy. You didn't grow up in this shack, in this hell-hole, and not grow a thick skin. He'd taken on men bigger than him, meaner men than him. Drunks, drug dealers. And came out the winner. But this one woman brought him to his knees with just the whisper of his name._

_And when he looked at her, hurting from some dumbass punk at school, he wanted to give into the want he had always felt for her. He reached up and brushed the wispy hair on her temple. "Ya' need to just forget 'bout those boys at school. You're worth more than 'em. You're better."_

_"Is that why you don't want me? 'Cause you think I'm better 'n you?"_

_He nodded. "You's cut out for more than this town. More than me."_

_"But I don't think I'm better than you."_

_He scoffed, taking another sip of shine. "I'm nothin' but trouble. Ask anyone." He didn't want her pity, he wanted her to see what everyone else saw when they looked at him. A dumb, redneck hick with no future._

_"Maybe you're the trouble I want?" She countered. She held his stare, daring him to make a move. And he didn't make a move on her. Not now, not like this. Not with Beth drunk. He would feel like he was taking advantage._

_After some time her tears dried up and she sighed, laying her head down on his shoulder. "Uff…" Beth groaned. "I think I should lay down. I'm feeling a little woozy." Daryl leaned his check on top of her head, taking the moment in._

_But before she had a chance to nod off, Daryl cleared his throat and said, "Told ya' this stuff will kick your ass."_

_Unfortunately he stood, offering Beth his hand to help her up. And it took all his will power to say what needed to be said; "Let's get ya' home."_

_. . ._

_They were silent on the way home. The fresh air blowing through her opened window helped to clear Beth's mind of the alcohol induced fog._

_Daryl cut the lights as he pulled alongside the road in front of the Greene's house. "Whatcha daddy gonna' think when he finds out I brought you home drunk?" He questioned._

_"He won't find out, 'sides I ain't drunk."_

_Daryl chucked. She may not of been wasted but she wasn't feeling any pain either._

_"Thanks for...well, for everything tonight. You're a good friend."_

_Before she opened her door she scooted over the seat and placing her hand on his check, feeling his jaw muscles tighten, feeling his sexy sculpted cheekbones. Quickly, before he had a chance to pull away she kissed him._

_This time, though, he did not balk as their lips came together. Instead, his tongue parted her lips to explore her hungry mouth. Running his hands up her sides, brushing past her breasts, he buried his hands in her hair. Her hand landed on his chest, his heartbeat beating strong and fast. Angling his head to gain better access to her mouth, Beth moaned when he sucked her bottom lip in and ran his tongue over the silky smoothness. Pulling her against him, chest to chest, heart to heart._

_"Damn girl." He said when they came up for air._

_Every nerve in Beth's body was in fire. From the top of her head down to her toes she wanted Daryl. And if she wasn't mistaking, he wanted her as well. So, smiling slyly, she backed away and opened her door she jumped out, sending a quick wave in his direction before disappearing into the darkness and leaving him hard and wanting more._

* * *

 


	7. You Have Me

"Why are ya' bein' so nice to me?" he asked from behind closed eyes.

Beth had never seen him so uncertain and vulnerable. His eyes were closed tight, brows drawn together, long eyelashes sending the slightest shadow on his sculpted cheekbones. No longer the tough boy he once was, now he was a frightened adult wanting desperately to do the right thing.

"You need to quit askin' why, and just let things happen. We'll figure this out together." Beth spoke with an assuredness she wasn't sure she felt. Fake it till you figure it out.

Daryl faced her calm hypnotic eyes, a warmth overcame all his senses. His fingers grasped tightly around her narrow rib cage and backed her up against the wall.

"It's been so long, but you still feel the same." His voice was a mumble of emotion.

Running her hands over his chest, up to his shoulders. "Do you wanna kiss me, Daryl?" she asked, reminiscent of when they were kids. If he wanted to kiss the girl she was then, he sure as hell wanted to kiss the woman she had become.

"I wanna more than anything. I can still 'member just the way you taste. It haunts me every time I close my eyes." He skimmed his hand under the hem of her sweater, teasing the skin with his calloused fingertips just above her hipbone.

"Well, what are you waitin' for."

And there it was; that spark of life he once saw in her.

Beth's heart skipped a beat when he caught her in the crook of his elbow and sealed her lips with a hot, wet kiss. Their bodies came closer together until Beth's body was imprinted onto the front of Daryl's.

They were joined in a passionate, biting kiss, one where lips and tongues tried to taste as much as they could as quickly as possible. Their hands were caressing every inch of their bodies, sending trails of fire over each other's skin, both wanting more - more than either of them felt with anyone else in the past.

After having been with Beth, Daryl had chased this...this feeling...after she left. Seeking solace in a stranger, with a woman he'd never met before, with someone he met randomly at the gas station. Anyone. Anywhere. Failing miserably every time trying to fill the residual void that Beth's leaving all those years ago had left him with.

They suddenly pulled apart, gazing at each other, breathing fast and uneven. Daryl pulled her in for one more earth shattering kiss. Just one more. 

_One more time._

That wasn't all he wanted though. He didn't want just one more time. He wanted a life time, and that was a terrifying thought for a man like him.

When his lips were a breath away, Shooter let out a squeal, reminding them they were not alone.

Beth had almost forgotten where they were. She had been living in the moment and aware of her surroundings for so long, she didn't think it was possible to float away on a sensation of warm, wet lips and a hard muscled body arms wrapped around her, so strong and steady.

Both turned to where Shooter lay on the blanket. "My son...he has perfect timing."

"He sure does," Beth agreed. Taking Daryl's hand she squeezed it, pulling him towards the baby laying in the middle of the living room, she sat on the floor on edge of the blanket. Daryl sat on the chair adjacent to them.

Though the interruption came at an inopportune time, Beth didn't mind. They had time for what was to come, whatever that may be. That kiss was a great restart though; her lips still tingled from his, her body still buzzed from his touch.

Shooter kicked his feet happily, chewing his hands, cooing softly then squealing just because he could. The best therapy in life was a baby, Beth decided. It didn't matter what extenuating instances arose, as long as Shooter was happy, she could be happy.

Then there was the baby's daddy. He made her feel a whole different way.

"So, why Shooter?" she asked.

"Huh?" Daryl sat comfortably in the upholstered rocker, leaning to the side with his elbow propped on the armrest, fist under his chin. Watching Beth dote on Shooter, adjusting his socks or brushing his dark hair back off his face, talking softly to him.

"Why do you call him Shooter?"

"Oh," he rose from the chair and joined them on the floor, sitting slightly behind Beth so she could lean into him. "The first time I changed his diaper, he pissed right on me. Like he did it on purpose or somethin'."

"No!" Beth laughed.

"Yep. He's got pretty good aim too, so I figured I would call him either Pisser or Shooter."

"Well, I'm glad you picked Shooter." Looking up at Daryl over her shoulder, treading lightly through the conversation, she said, "I was surprised you named him William."

Head down, looking at her through his lashes, he shrugged a shoulder. "Seemed like the right thing to do at the time."

"Oh?" She urged him on.

"He was an asshole, but still my daddy, ya' know? When it came time to name Shooter, it was the only name I could think of." He looked over to Shooter, a sweet longing in his eyes. "Stupid, I guess. I mean, not the name but…the reason."

"No, not at all."

Beth wanted to ask more questions. About the last twelve years of Daryl's life. About Merle. Mostly she wanted to ask about Shooter's mother. By doing that, though, she would be pushing Daryl into a corner. He would tell her the full story one day, when the time was right. When he was ready. It was an issue of trust, and trust did not come easy for Daryl.

Right now, tonight, things were safe, uncomplicated. Tonight, Beth chose to relax against Daryl and enjoy the moment.

It was hard letting Shooter and Daryl go that night. She wanted them to stay. To put the baby to bed then invite Daryl into her own bed, but Beth knew it would not be the best of choices. Instead she sent them home with the promise to call after they were both done with work.

She sat near the river rock fireplace, watching the variances of orange dancing on the walls, the glow from the fire brightening the darkened the living room. She knew she needed to head to bed herself, but her brain wouldn't shut off. The evening's events kept replaying in her mind. She'd wanted Daryl for as long as she could remember, and now it seemed to be happening.  

Taking a breath, she finally stood to go change into her pajamas. She felt lighter - a feeling she hadn't felt in a very long time - excited about her future with Daryl and Shooter. A pair of headlights shining through the windows stopped her.

"Who is here now?" she asked herself and for the first time spotted Shooter's box of cereal on the countertop in the kitchen. Thinking it must be Daryl coming back to retrieve it, Beth grabbed the box and went to the door. Flipping on the porch light as she went out to greet Daryl. Only mildly embarrassed by her eagerness to see him again, if only for a few seconds more.

However, it was not Daryl's truck that parked in her drive and it wasn't Daryl that rounded the hood. Her spirits plummeted. It was Shane.

As Shane approached, the porch light shone on him. Beth noted he looked only slightly better than the other day. He wore his work uniform, clean and ironed, but his face still needed a shave and his hair was shaggy under his King County Sheriff's Department hat. Beth had nothing against longer hair or facial hair, he normally was clean and tidy. This rougher look did not suit him or his job as deputy.

"Whatcha doin' here Shane?"

"Just wanted to see ya."

She didn't know what he expected her to say, so she stood quietly waiting for him to make the next move.

"Listen, I came to 'pologize for the other day."

Beth looked at him, untrusting. "You came to apologize. Or cause trouble?" She didn't have the time or patience for trouble.

"I shouldn't've said what I said."

Relenting, she said, "No. No you shouldn't have." Sorry went a long way with Beth...that is, if it was sincere. She didn't hold grudges; life was too short.

Shane walked to the bottom step, looking up at Beth. "Can I come in?"

"No, I don't think that would be a good idea."

"Beth…" Shawn began, a pleading note to his voice. Dropping his head, he rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. "What's that?" he asked, reading the label on the box she held in her hands. "Gerber Rice Single Grain Cereal. Expecting someone else, were ya?"

"A friend left this."

"A friend?"

Shane mentally put two and two together. He had heard rumors of Daryl Dixon sniffing around Beth recently. That she had been out to his house, that she helped him with his baby. (And imagine that: Daryl with a kid.) Big mouths wagged in small towns so he blew the rumors off. Until now.

"Shane, I don't think we have anything to say to each other. Thank you for your apology, but you should go." Can't get any clearer than that, Beth figured.

"Beth...I..."

Before he had a chance to go on, Beth spoke, a note of authority to her voice, "Good-bye Shane," and she turned on her heel and went back into the house.

Frustrated, she tossed the box of cereal back onto the counter. Determined to get Shane out of her mind, she marched into her bathroom and began getting ready for bed. She didn't know what to be madder at: Shane coming to her house or the fact that she actually felt bad for turning him away.

 

. . . 

It took Beth hours to fall asleep. She lay awake staring out the window of her loft bedroom. The stars shone like a million diamonds constellated in the night sky. She snuggled down further into bed. The heat of the fireplace rose into the loft making a secure little cocoon. Yet she felt exposed; bare to the uncertainties of the tiny world she had created for herself. And when she did finally sleep, she tossed and turned with nightmares; images of Daryl holding Shooter and walking away. She was cemented to where she stood in her dream, unable to chase after them. Yelling his name, but no sound would come out of her mouth.

Determined to not let Shane ruin her day, when she woke the next morning, the nightmare's faded away and was again replaced with the lightheartedness she felt last night before Shane's visit. Though she was unable to fully shake the sensation that the forces that be did not want her and Daryl together, she brushed it off and got herself ready for work, even going as far as to put on a little mascara.

. . . 

The days did go by quickly, as did the weeks as he, Beth and Shooter spent the evenings together cozied up in her cabin. Leaving Beth every night was torture. The last place he wanted her was his trailer. Besides, Shooter needed a schedule, and they had to wake early in the mornings, he needed to be asleep in his crib at a decent time. However, those facts didn't make it any easier to leave Beth every night.

Their evenings weren't anything special. Usually they would make dinner together, watch a show on TV. He talked more in the past few weeks than he had in years. Mostly, though, Beth did the talking. About when they were young, or her time away at college., or when she worked in New York. Nothing major, but none the less important. Beth would occasionally ask about him, keeping the questioning safe and generic. He knew she was curious and wanted to know what he'd been up to the last few years but he'd rather not tell her. The person he was then was not the person he was now. Beth seemed to understand and respect that. Someday he would have to come clean, just not right now.

Daryl couldn't remember a time when he'd been actually happy to go into work. He had been grateful for the legal steady work, the steady pay. Still, work was work. He pulled up to the garage with a newfound happiness and had to forcefully wipe off the smile that was perpetually glued to his face, least Shawn or one of the guys saw it. That's the last thing he wanted was their teasing. But, his step was a little lighter, humming an old Waylon Jennings song, he was ready to get the day going so he could get it done quickly. Daryl was looking forward to the weekend when Friday finally rolled around and he was able to clock out. Retrieving Shooter from Patricia's, he tried his best not to speed on the way to his trailer for a quick shower and change of clothes before heading over to Beth's.

When he finally got to her house, Beth was out of her scrubs for the day; traded them for grey leggings and a faded blue and grey flannel, her hair piled up on the top of her head. She was beautiful no matter what she wore, or how she wore her hair, or whether or not she wore makeup, but this look? He liked it best. It told Daryl she was comfortable around him, that she didn't feel the need to impress him, she was able to just be herself. And that's who he liked best.

Shooter went straight to Beth. Smiling and babbling happily at her. She had a way with the baby. She had a way with Daryl too as she leaned in and gave him a quick, but passionate, kiss on the lips.

"Good day?" Beth asked Daryl, putting Shooter on her hip, turning back to the counter, mixing something gooey in a large bowel.

"Uh huh," Daryl, unable to keep his hands off her, placed his arms around her waist, around Shooter. "What's that?" He asked. It smelled good, but looked like pale goo.

"Cinnamon Roll dough."

"Damn girl, you tryin' to make me fat?"

"They ain't for you." Giggling, ever so slightly pushing her behind into his middle. Deciding he liked that, he moved his hands to her hips and held her against him.

"They're for thanksgiving. I will freeze them, then cook 'em wednesday night. We'll have them for breakfast Thursday morning at my parents while we get dinner ready. It's tradition."

"Well maybe I can get ya' to cook a few for me tonight. I mean someone's gotta' taste test 'em. Make sure they're fit to eat," he teased, moving her hair away from her ear, nibbling lightly.

"Well I might be persuaded…Unless…"

"Unless what?" He asked.

Beth turned around and leaned into his embrace, breathing in his fresh from the shower scent. Pulling back, Daryl casually rubbed Shooter's hair when he squealed, beating his tiny hand against Daryl's arm. He took Shooter from Beth and leaned his hip against the counter, watching as she dumped the contents of the bowel onto the countertop and began to kneed the dough with her hands. He waited for her to finish her thought.

"Unless ya'll wanna' come to thanksgiving?"

He hadn't put much thought into thanksgiving coming up. This year would be different, of course, because of Shooter but he figured he'd just have a couple extra days off to spend with Shooter. And Beth. Going to an actual dinner, with Beth's family...the idea hadn't occurred to him. This, whatever 'this' was, was still new. Had she even told her family about them yet?

He hadn't been to a Thanksgiving dinner in, well, a long time. He had memories, very brief fleeting memories, of his Mama in the kitchen cooking. The house full of the fragrances of the day. And then she died and there was no more Thanksgiving dinners. Or Christmas mornings. Or birthdays. He had been so young he didn't remember much of those days anyway and most Thanksgivings thereafter he spent in the woods. Alone. Hunting.

Escaping the question for the moment, he said, "I need ta' change Shooter, didn't get a chance earlier." He left Beth elbow-deep in cinnamon roll dough and made his way to the living room. Thankfully Beth let the subject drop for now.

 

. . .

The ease in which they slipped into this domesticity was gradual and sudden all at the same time. They spent most evenings together in what had almost become routine, not only as a couple-but the three of them. Herself, Daryl and Shooter. It seemed like things had always been that way. Beth knew she had a life before them but it was vague in her recollection as to what she did with herself. Looking back, her life seemed empty, lonely. She had her work and her family but they couldn't fill the void Daryl did. Employment and family only went so far. Beth wanted to spend every minute she could with them. Her idea to go slow was crumbling. And fast.

She planned on asking Daryl to thanksgiving and this evening the topic had conveniently presented itself. And Daryl had conveniently sidestepped her question. Well, he wasn't going to get off that easy, she decided. Time to use a little female persuasion.

Shooter laid in his usual spot on a blanket on the living room floor, enjoying a post-dinner snooze. Daryl was also in a post-dinner stuper, kicked back on the couch. One leg up on the coffee table, one arm leaning on the armrest watching some sort of hunting show on the television. Beth rolled her eyes, smiling. It wasn't enough that he hunted, he had to watch hunting on TV as well.

After taking Daryl's Cinnamon Rolls from the oven, she strode into the living room and stood in front of Daryl. Placing her hands on her hips and squinted playfully down at him. "So. Mr. Dixon."

Eyebrows raised, he looked up at her expectantly, "Ms. Greene."

Placing one knee on either side of his hips, she straddled his lap, placing her hands on those gloriously broad shoulders. She took off his camouflaged hat and tossed it next to them on the sofa. Running her fingers through his shaggy hair, she loved the way his eyes closed, his whole body relaxing.

"You think you're so smart, dontcha'?"

"Sometimes, actually yeah," was his sarcastic answer, peering at her through one open eye.

"Uh huh. Well don't think for a second I didn't catch what you did earlier." She leaned her face down to his, her lips a heartbeat from his.

She had his attention now, but not so much on what she was saying as what she was doing with those beautiful hands, running her fingers through his hair, the other hand trailing down his chest, over his stomach to rest on his belt buckle.

"What'd I do?" he asked. Her lips shimmered perfectly pink. Her legs constricted around his waist and her body pressed down seductively on his tightening cock. 

Daryl didn't wait for her answer. Instead he lifted his chin, just a fraction of an inch and rested his lips on hers, his hands climbing up her back

Beth groaned, reaching behind her she took his wrists and pushed his arms away from her body. "Don't you distract me." Though, she desperately wanted him to distract her with those hands, that mouth. But first things first.

"Do you and Shooter want to come to thanksgiving?"

"What the hell...I want to keep touching you is what I wanna' do." He tried to move his hands back to her body but she held them pinned to the couch cushion at his sides. Tried to kiss her again, she pulled away. And that only made him want it more.

"Daryl." Beth spoke with mock-authority.

"Why?" No one had ever wanted to spend a holiday with him before. Definitely not take him home to the family.

"Because I want you there."

Daryl sighed, "Thanksgiving?"

"Thanksgiving," Beth confirmed.

"With your family?"

"With my family."

"Okay, we'll go."

"Really?" Beth smiled, unable to conceal her excitement.

"Yeah, sure."

Nevermind that he would of agreed to anything at that moment. A bank robbery? Yep. Petty arson? No problem. Anything just so she'd release his hands and he could touch her again. When she did release his wrist he took no time in capturing her arms and instantaneously laying her down on the couch, his body covering hers.

Trailing kisses down her neck to the opening in her flannel shirt, his voice muffled, he teased, "So what do I get in return fer goin' to thanksgiving?"

Suppressing a moan as his lips trailed up to the sensitive skin behind her ear, "Oh, I don't know. What do you want?" she spoke lightly, almost breathless.

He rose his head looking down at her long and hard. A look so strong she felt it down to her toes. "I want _you_ , Beth."

The air that filled her lungs whooshed out. "You have me."

. . . 

Maggie was rattling on about how many pounds of mashed potatoes to get as she and Beth meandered through the grocery store pushing a cart heaping with food for thanksgiving dinner. Another tradition; shopping together for dinner. They had rounded the store twice and now we're back at the vegetable and fruit section.

"Beth?" Maggie stopped the cart in front of the display of Idaho Spuds, a question on her face.

"What? Oh. I don't know, 10 pounds oughta do it. We always have tons of leftover potatoes."

"Well the leftovers are the best part." Maggie exclaimed her befuddlement. She tossed the 10 pound bag into the cart, and asked, "What's with you? Ya' been quiet all day."

True enough, she had been. Her mind was a muddle of questions. The way Daryl had looked at her the night before with such intensity, such pensive thoughtfulness. She had never seen so much conveyed in a look. It made her heart flutter now just thinking about it. And the words he spoke. 'I want you'. No one had wanted her like that before. Sure, plenty of guys had said sweet things in the heat of the moment or spoke half-truths to get what they wanted from her. Daryl was different, though. He held no pretenses. What he said is what he meant. He clearly didn't only want her in his bed but in his life as well.

"Beth?" Maggie questioned when she had been stuck in the reprieve of her thoughts for too long, causing another pregnant pause in their conversation. She had yet to tell Maggie about her and Daryl. Not only that they were together, but she had invited him to thanksgiving dinner. Maggie wouldn't be pleased.

"Nothin's 'with me'. So are we making apple salad too?" Beth asked, trying to distract Maggie.

"Don't even try it, spill it."

"Okay, okay. You know you can be a real pain in the ass sometimes." She said only half joking. "I invited someone to dinner."

Maggie's eyebrows wrinkled her forehead, she looked pleasantly surprised before frowning, "It's not Shane is it?"

"God, no."

"Phew! So, someone new? Good. You need to start fresh. Who's the guy?" Maggie questioned.

"Well I wouldn't say he's new…" Beth adjusted the bag of potatoes in the cart, rearranging the food needlessly.

Maggie squinted her eyes, "Who?"

Beth stood straight, facing her sister. She was an adult and could see anyone she wanted. Did not need her sister's, or anyone else's permission for that matter.

"Daryl."

Maggie's jaw dropped, "Daryl Dixon? " She spat his name like it left a nasty taste in her mouth. "You invited Daryl?" Maggie repeated.

"Yes, and his son."

"Didn't I tell you about him?"

"And I didn't listen to you. I can make my own decisions, believe it or not."

"He's not good news, Beth. I told you to stay away from him! I'm only looking out for ya'."

Beth's patients snapped, "Well don't! Don't act like ya' are lookin' out for me, either. You just don't like 'im because he grew up in a shack with a drunk for a daddy. But let me tell you something, sister; you ain't any better than him. He's a good man and a good father. You're just too busy lookin' down your nose to see it. If you don't like him, that's just too damn bad because I happen to like him. A lot! And you don't getta' say in what I do with my life."

That all too familiar redness peeked Maggie's cheeks as she opened her mouth to speak. Beth held up a hand, stopping her. She snatched her bag from the front of the cart. Turning on her heel, she left Maggie standing in shocked silence.

Once at her Jeep, Beth threw her bag and phone onto the passenger seat, shoving the keys into the ignition, and slammed the gear shifter into reverse. Never had she been so angry at her sister. When did Maggie become such a snob? Even under the disguise of looking out for her, Maggie's snap judgment was unfounded and unfair. Did she actually expect her to stop seeing Daryl just because she said to?

In the passenger seat her phone began to vibrate and Beth contemplated not answering it in the chance it could be Maggie. Being one of the town's only doctors, that probably wasn't a good idea. Steering with one hand and digging her phone out from under her bag with the other, she brought the phone out, double checking the caller ID and not recognizing the number, she barked into the cell, "Dr. Greene here."

Silence.

"Hello? Is someone there?" Nothing. But was that someone breathing? A shiver went down her spine and she asked, "Who is this?"

Shuffling, then more breathing. "Beth...Dr. Greene?" Quaked a small voice.

"Yes? Who is this?"

The voice broke into a sob, then another. The anger she felt from the scene in the grocery store evaporated as her physicians senses kicked in. Intuitively she knew who was on the other end of the call.

"Carol? What's wrong?"


	8. Chapter 8

"Carol? What's the matter?"  
  
"I..." Carol's muffled sobs sounded through the phone and reverberated straight through to Beth's heart.   
  
"It's okay."

Which, of course, was a silly thing to say. Beth had no idea what was happening and there was no way she could know if anything was 'okay'. She had to find a way to calm Carol enough so she'd be able tell her what was wrong.

"Take a deep breath for me. Can ya do that?"   
  
Carol did as Beth asked, taking one ragged breath then another before speaking, "Can you help me?"   
  
"Yes." Beth spoke without hesitation. Where are you?"   
  
"Home, I'm at home."

Living in a small town had its advantages and Beth knew pretty much where everyone lived.

"You stay put, ya hear me? I'll be right there." Although it was against her better judgment, Beth ended the call, realizing that keeping her on the line would have been best. She pushed her foot further down on gas pedal flying down the road out of town, traveling in the general direction of the Peletier residence.   
  
What normally would have been a fifteen minute drive from town only took Beth seven. The Peletier's lived down a quiet dead end road with only one house within shouting distance; the rest of the road remained vacant.  The house, a two story cottage with fading yellow paint, was dark when Beth pulled into the driveway. Sad, wilting chrysanthemums were planted on each side of the concrete steps. The remnants of a summer flower garden lined the front of the house. Carol had probably added it to cheer up an otherwise depressing situation, but to Beth it only made the house look sadder.   
  
Cautiously, she walked up the stairs. Carol's old mini-van sat in the drive; Ed's truck was missing. Beth only hoped its owner was gone along with it. Lightly knocking the door squeaked open an inch.

Peeking her head inside, with a hushed whisper Beth's voice quavered, "Carol? Sophia?" As she stepped further into the darkened house.   
  
Shadows cascaded along the dark hardwood floors, elongated by a light coming from a room toward the back of the house. Tip-toeing toward the light she jumped when Sophia appeared, the little girl a waif of a thing, so pale she was akin to an apparition floating through the darkness. 

"Mama's in here, she whispered.   
  
Over Sophia's shoulder, Beth saw Carol laying in a heap on the sofa, a blanket tossed haphazardly over her body.   
  
Kneeling in front of the girl, she reassured, "I'm gonna take care of your Mama." Then she said something a doctor never should say, "She's gonna be just fine."

Sophia nodded, her face stoic, resigned to what was a crappy life to date.   
  
Giving her shoulder a quick squeeze, she stood and went to Carol. "Carol?" Beth asked, switching on the lamp on the end table sending a yellow wash over Carol's beaten face.

"Carol. Can you hear me?" A canvas of blues and purples with swollen lips and eyes.

She nodded slightly, mumbled something that may have been Beth's name.  

From the emergency kit she kept in the back of her Jeep, she took out a small flashlight and peered into Carol's closed eyes checking for concussion. Her pupils were even and dilating. That was good, at least. As she checked the rest of her battered body she spoke quietly to her, whispering reassuring murmurs as the woman drifted in and out of consciousness.   
  
"Sophia, will you get a clean washcloth and dampen it with warm water? Can you do that for me?" Beth asked Sophia who stood off and out of the way.  
  
The girl disappeared into a darkened room adjacent to the living space. Turning her attention back to Carol, Beth winced at the sight of her face. The woman stirred, in obvious pain.

"Carol?" Beth questioned, trying to rustle the woman from her semi-consciousness. "Carol."   
  
Her eyes fluttered open. "Beth? I'm so sorry." Her words were anguished, filled with shame.   
  
Grasping Carol's hand, Beth said, "Stop, you have nothing to apologize for. But you do need to go to the hospital."   
  
Carol's eyes widened with fear and pain and she tried to sit up. "No. No. No," she repeated over and over again.   
  
"But Carol," Beth tried to reason. "You are hurt. You may have internal injuries."   
  
"I can't. Won't go." The woman was small and exhausted emotionally as well as physically but Beth was sure Carol would fight her, physically if need be if she tried to force her to go to the hospital.   
  
It was best to keep her calm.

"Okay, okay. We will stay here. Lay back." She placed her hands on her shoulders, lightly pushing her back. Carol let her body relax and allowed Beth to adjust the pillow behind her head. "I'm going to see if there are any broken ribs, any sensitive spots in your belly. Is that alright?"   
  
Carol nodded and Beth examined her stomach, kidneys, and ribs gently with her fingertips. Everything checked out fine, the brutality of what had happened seemed to be focused mostly on Carol's face.   
  
By the time she had finished, Sophia had returned with a washcloth as well as bowl filled with warm water. _Smart girl,_ Beth thought.   
  
"Thank you, honey." Beth looked closely at Sophia for the first time; she appeared untouched - physically, anyhow. Turning back, she began to carefully wipe the congealed blood from Carol's face. Carol roused a bit more her eyes opening. Focusing on Beth, watching her closely.

"I don't think anything's broken, but I think you're gonna need stitches on this cut..."   
  
Carol bristled again interrupting Beth, "Told ya' I wasn't goin' to no hospital."   
  
"I can do it here," Beth quickly spoke, not wanting to agitate Carol anymore than she already was. Sophia, unzip the side pouch there on my bag. Inside is a small white case...can you hand it here? There's also a small bottle of iodine, the orange looking liquid." Sophia quickly handed over the package of sterilized needles and thread as well as the iodine.   
  
Beth situated herself on the side of the couch next to Carol's frail, thin body. As she stitched up the three inch cut that split across and down the curve of her chin, to Carol's credit she didn't flinch or show any indication she was in any amount of pain, probably figuring it was the least she'd been through that day.    
  
There were multiple, though thankfully less serious lacerations and bruises on her face. As well as her forehead and her neck. Her knuckles were also battered and bloody. Good, he hoped Carol got a few shots at Ed. Sophia lay curled up in an overstuffed chair, asleep. Her adrenaline, no doubt, crashing now that her mother was safe, if only for the moment.   
  
Beth felt Carol's eyes on her again. Looking down at her, her eyes resembling that of an animal caged in a zoo, how they look out at the people looking in. People can tell themselves there is no way the animals can understand they are locked up and you are free, but somehow you get the sense that they do know.   
  
"I know what you think of me," Carol spoke hoarsely.  
  
"Oh?" Beth asked, fixing her concentration back on the sutures.   
  
"You pity me. Well, let me tell you. Don't. I don't want your pity." She spoke quiet and matter-of-factly. Sternly. Like a mother trying to convey something of great importance to her child. Her words carried no anger.   
  
The truth was, Beth did pity her. Carol was trapped in a bad situation with seemingly no easy way out. Sure she could move out, get a job, take care of herself and her daughter, but at what cost? Men like Ed didn't let things like that just happen, didn't let their woman walk away.  
  
Finishing up the last stitch, she knotted it and snipped the thread with a pair of clippers. Sighing, she said, "You know, there are people who can help you, people that will take you and Sophia in and help you…" she gestured with her hands, "disappear."   
  
"I ain't no coward. I know it looks like I am, but to run away would make me a coward."   
  
"No one would think that."   
  
"I don't expect you to understand. Besides, you think I give a shit what anyone thinks? I don't care what anyone thinks 'cept her." She looked at her daughter with utter despair.    
  
Most people would look at Carol and think just that: that she was a coward. Or stupid. Or both. Nonetheless, Beth understood what she meant. To go took courage, but to stay took bravery. To get up every morning and face that monster; to take beating after beating, not knowing what might or might not bring one on, living in a state of constant hypersensitivity.   
  
"I can't leave," Carol continued, her eyes filling with tears; the first sign of any emotion since Beth's arrival. "He'd kill her." Her voice impassioned, flat. She pointed her bandaged chin to her sleeping daughter."Even if I got out, he'd find her somehow and kill her while I watched, knowing that that would be a punishment far worse 'an him killing _me_."

. . .   
  
"Bad day?" Daryl asked when Beth finally made it back to her house. She had quickly sent him a text after arriving at Carol's, telling him that she had an emergency come up with a patient and that she would be home as soon as she was able. She told him not to wait around for her. Thankfully, he didn't listen and did wait for her anyway.

He sat in his usual slouched position on the couch, a sleeping Shooter snuggled up on his chest. For a moment, she fantasized she was coming home from a normal work day, from a normal profession, one that didn't leave her drained emotionally, one that didn't take away a little chunk of her with every patient. One where she could come home to her man and their child. But she didn't have that kind of job or life and that was not her baby. He was some other woman's child.   
  
"You could say that."

The room was dark save for the light from the television. Her face was blocked out from the light behind her as she passed in front of the television, to stand at the window. Her back to him looking out at nothing in particular. Daryl didn't need to see her face to know something was off. Judging by the intonation of her voice, the hollow sadness in those four words, he knew something was wrong.   
  
Daryl slid Shooter from his chest and onto the couch cushion, placing a pillow on the outer side of him before joining her at the window, placing his hands on her hips. "What's wrong, baby?" He wihspered in her ear.   
  
She turned, allowing him to see by the light of the moon filtering through the windows the blood on her white long sleeved t-shirt, the blood on her hands. He took her hands in his, opening her palms.

"What the fuck?" He leaned over and flipped on the light switch next to the front door, filling the living room with glaring light, making Beth squint. "Are you hurt?" Panic shot through his belly like a bullet. He looked her over from head to toe, looking for a source of the blood.   
  
"It's not my blood."   
  
Relief, just as quickly as the panic, washed over him, "Well, what the hell happened?"   
  
Finally she was home. Safe. She no longer had to play the part of stoic doctor. She never was great at that anyway. Doctors have to compartmentalize, everyone told her when she was going through medical school and her internship. She never quite could, though - never could tuck the pain and suffering away, always carrying it around with her.   
  
Now, she was finally safe in Daryl's arms where she belonged, and she was able to let the tears fall freely.   
  
Daryl ducked his head to meet her eyes at her level. "Whoa. What's wrong?" He placed his hand on the back of her neck pulling her to his chest, holding her tight, supporting her when her legs grew weak.   
  
Her tears were for Carol and for Sophia and the childhood she must endure. The tears were for the adult Sophia would become and the probability of her becoming involved with a man just like her father. She cried about her fight with Maggie and the unease that the argument had left her with. Maybe Maggie wasn't the person she thought she was her whole life.  She also cried for time lost. The time she lost when she was away from Daryl. She cried in alleviation that she was, if not belatedly, finally with Daryl.

And Daryl didn't bulk, he held her until her tears dried. 

. . .   
  
_It was a hot spring that year. Georgia went from windy, rainy winter straight into a spring that likened to the Sahara Desert. Dry with hot, penetrating sun. Daryl had just finished stacking the last bale of hay in the Greene family barn, sweat beaded on his chest, his shirt shed and forgotten much earlier in the day. There was a breeze blowing through the open loft door, though the air was like that of a heater and held no relief. It was hot as Hades, but Hershel had asked him to stack up what was left of the hay in the barn to make room for the fresh hay that would come later in the summer...plus the man had also paid him fifty bucks._  
  
_From his vantage point up in the loft, he saw a truck speeding down the road, kicking up a trail of dirt. It came to a sudden halt in front of the house. Even from this distance he could see something was wrong as Beth jumped out of the passenger seat, slamming the door. The truck sped off in an ungraceful fishtail and Beth kicked at the dirt, yelling "Jus' go on then! Get the hell outta' here!"_  
  
_She turned and stomped up the lawn and before Daryl had a chance to think better of it, he yelled down to her. "Hey!"_  
  
_She stopped and shaded her eyes against the setting sun, looked up in the direction that all too familiar 'hey' came from._  
  
_"Hey yourself." She was in an obvious sour mood._  
  
_"Somethin' wrong?"_  
  
_"Nope." She stomped off towards the house again._  
  
_"Wait up." He disappeared from his perch atop the loft door and reappeared exiting the barn a few seconds later._  
  
_She gazed at him, her line of vision following the trail of hair that disappeared under his belt buckle, reminding him he wasn't wearing a shirt. Did he detect lust in those sharp blue eyes of hers?_  
  
_Regaining her composure, she snapped, "What do you want?"_  
  
_He held up his hands in defence, smirking handsomely. "Nothin'. Who was that?" he asked jutting his chin at the long gone truck._  
  
_Beth crossed her arms over her chest, her lips protruding in an adorable pout. "Zach."_  
  
_"I thought he was a dumbass?_  
  
_"I think I'm the one thatsa' dumbass," she mumbled to her feet._  
  
_Daryl took a step towards her, tugged her ponytail playfully, "Na'. You just got bad taste in guys." He knew this for a fact since she seemed interested in him._  
  
_"Listen, I'm not in the mood for your shit, so if you could save torturing me for another day…"_  
  
_Oh, she was pissed and Daryl couldn't help but find it appealing. Her eyebrows were high and sharp, cheeks flushed. This was a different side to Beth, one he hadn't seen before. She was a pretty optimistic person, but he could get on board with this side of Beth Greene. He eyed her head to toe, "You're pretty hot when you're angry. Ya' know that?"_  
  
_Was that a small upturn of the corners of her lips?_  
  
_"Stop." She was already pissed off; she didn't want to be pushed into a good mood, still she couldn't stop the smile._  
  
_Daryl leaned against a large oak tree, pulling out the pack of cigarettes he was never out of, lighting one with the flick of a lighter. She was mad on the surface but brimming below she was hurting, he read it in her eyes. "_

 _When you gonna learn to stay away from little pricks like Zach?"_  
  
_She waved the smoke from Daryl's cigarette away with exaggerated hand movements. "I don't need a lecture, Daryl."_  
  
_"Okay, no lecture. What'd he do this time?" he asked, ready to listen._  
  
_The heat of embarrassment added to her already pink face. "Nothin'."_  
  
_Beth was a lot of things - smart, pretty, sassy - one thing she was not was a good liar. It made Daryl's hackles go on edge._  
  
_"What'd he do?"_  
  
_"Nothin'," she repeated. "Jus' mind your own business." She turned from him and stomped toward the house. He stopped her with a yank on her wrist, spinning her back around._  
  
_"Dammit Beth."_  
  
_"What do you care?" she yelled at him, tears burning in her eyes._  
  
_"I….I care." The words physically hurt his throat. He'd never told anyone that before. Ever. Maybe because he'd never actually cared enough to tell it to someone._  
  
_She snatched her hand back and coldly said, "Yeah, right."_  
  
_He got it, he understood. She was angry and needed to take it out on someone. He was just that someone. His feelings were not easily hurt. This time, when she spun away from him, he skirted around her and stepped in her path. "_

_He didn't hurt you, did he?"_

_Again she wouldn't meet his eyes._

_"Beth."_  
  
_"No he didn't hurt me. He tried to…" She cleared her throat. "Ya know."_  
  
_Daryl had to think for a moment until it dawned on him what her words insinuated._

 _"What!?" Anger so strong and pure scorched through him and seared right to his bones. It was like someone had flipped a switch. He went from fine to pissed off and ready to kill in about three seconds._  
  
_"I'm fine. Really." She must have realized that what she had said couldn't be unsaid. She had major damage control to do, lest someone end up dead by the hands of an angry redneck._  
  
_"He force himself on you?" Daryl questioned, his jaw clenching, grinding his back molars._  
  
_"No...I mean….he tried, but I stopped him. I handled it." Daryl pushed past Beth toward his truck, parked by the barn. "Daryl don't."_  
  
_"Get back on up to the house," he commanded, to which she did not abide._  
  
_"Dammit! I don't need you to do my bidding for me! I can handle myself!"_  
  
_Her words fell on deaf ears as he climbed behind the steering wheel of his truck and gunned the engine to life._  
  
_"Shit!" Beth said to herself, hustling to her jeep parked in the main driveway._  
  
_Beth arrived in town seconds after Daryl must have, but he and his truck weren't anywhere to be found. As she drove the main drag, from the diner down Main Street to the library and back around, he wasn't there. Then a glimpse of grey caught her attention down a side road bordering the town hall. His truck was parked in the parking lot and he stood outside it, still without a shirt. He was bent over, had someone pinned to the ground. Beth didn't need to think too hard to figure it was Zach._  
  
_Braking hard, she made a sharp U-turn in the middle of the road and high tailed it down the side road. Coming to an abrupt stop next to Zach and Daryl's trucks, she jumped out, yelling for him to stop before her whole body was out of the vehicle._  
  
_"Son of a bitch! Daryl what the hell do ya' think you're doin'?" She yelled. Putting her arm around his, trying valiantly to pull him off Zach to no avail. He had Zach pinned to the ground with one hand around his throat, Zach's lip already bloodied and his eye shadowed with the beginnings of a bruise._  
  
_"Someone's gotta' teach this boy some manners!" He ground out between clenched teeth. All he saw was rage - bright red, steaming rage._  
  
_"Daryl." Beth's voice became unexpectedly calm. He was doing this for her, because he cared for her. "Daryl, please stop."_  
  
_Her voice reached deep down into his psyche, penitrating his soul. "But...he hurt you, Beth."_  
  
_"I'm fine, just let 'im go. He ain't worth it."_  
  
_Slowly Daryl's gripped lessened until Zach was able to take deep breaths, his color going from that of a beet to a light shade of pink._  
  
_"Go on," he spat. "Get outta here."_

_Zach wasted no time in scrambling to his feet and making a run for his truck. Before he opened the door though, Daryl's voice icy cold stopped him. "You touch her again an' I'll kill you."_

_He obviously didn't doubt Daryl's words as he tore out of that parking lot like a bat out of hell._  
  
_Breathing heavily, Daryl turned to Beth and she walked into his embrace, his strong protective arms enclosing her. The only time he felt things were right in the universe was when Beth was in his arms._


	9. Chapter 9

When Beth's tears finally dried up, Daryl directed her to the bathroom and after starting a shower of hot water for her, he exited the bathroom so she could strip off the crimson stained clothes and wash away the day's pain. She stood under the stream of water and let the days pain wash down the drain and when the tears came again, she let them flow.    
  
After her shower she felt marginally better. Daryl was standing in the living room setting up a playpen in the corner that Beth had bought earlier in the week. It made sense to have a place for Shooter to be able to sleep comfortably or have a safe place to be while they were at the cabin. She told herself it had nothing to do with wanting them there more often; it was a matter of practicality having a pack-n-play at the house. _Yeah right_ ,taunted a voice deep down in her brain.   
  
It only took a moment before the pack-n-play was set up and ready to go. She gingerly picked Shooter up and laid him down in it. Daryl took his blanket, a blue fleece with trucks on it, and lightly covered him. Shooter sighed and stretched and, rolling over to his side, fell immediately back to sleep.   
  
"I think he likes it," Beth whispered, as she and Daryl stood watch over him.    
  
"Uh-huh." Daryl turned to Beth, tucking a strand of wet hair behind her ear. "Feelin' better?"   
  
She shrugged her shoulders, leaning into him as his arms effortlessly went around her. 

He regarded her with inquisitive blue eyes. "I need you. Need you close. Come upstairs with me." She took his hand, pulling lightly. 

He didn't move from his spot, feet routed to the ground.  "Ya' sure? You've been through a lot today. You're tired. I don't wanna take advantage."   
  
"I'm not so tired I don't know what I want." She laid a hand on his chest and felt his muscles tighten.   
  
Beth's words made his belly twist. Not uncomfortably, but it was a sensation he'd only experienced once before: their first time together. No one had ever needed him the way she did. It hadn't been easy, being with her almost every day and keeping things on a 'PG' level...wanting her...needing her. He slid his hands up to her shoulders, his fingers brushing over the straps of her tank top. If this was a mistake, he felt he had no choice but to make it, if this was a mistake, it was one he would never regret.   
  
"Are ya sure?" he asked again. "There's a lot goin' on in your mind. When I take you to bed, I want it to be just the two of us." She dropped her head and he grabbed her by the shoulders, daring her to look up again. When she did, he spoke more forcefully this time, "You won't think of anyone but me."   
  
Whether it was a threat or a promise, she agreed to his words. He lowered his mouth to hers. It was only a kiss, but her blood began to pound with desire. The stirring he could so easily cause sent a thrill to her stomach and spread outward making her fingertips tingle. Her hands were imprisoned in between their bodies, but she didn't feel vulnerable, it made her feel safe. The kiss deepened and as the intimacy grew. She didn't think of anyone but him. All the racing thoughts from the day's events dissipated and all she could think, smell and taste was Daryl.   
  
She tasted as she had the very first time; ripe and fresh. There was no turning back for either of them now. She walked backwards, Daryl walking with her, pressing mad kisses to her lips, neck and chest until they reached the loft stairs. Giving him an innocent yet somehow devilish smile, she climbed the steps with him a step behind her.   
  
The loft was a small space, one she hadn't taken the time to decorate, only big enough for a queen-sized mattress that sat on the floor and a makeshift end table made from an old milk crate, a framed picture of her teenaged self, Maggie, Shawn, Hershel and Annette was perched on top of it. The only other furniture was a bookshelf filled to the brim with paperbacks. He laid her down, nestling himself in between her legs, the sheets were rumpled but clean. The scent of the outdoors from when she left them to dry on the line wafted through the air. It was dark, it was quiet. They were alone.   
  
And tonight he would take her for the second time. Something he never thought he'd ever have the chance to do again.   
  
He leaned up only long enough to slip the camisole up over her head and reaching behind his back he pulled his t-shirt off as well. Laying back over her, he felt her heart thudding against his bare chest, adding to the excitement. His rough, calloused hands ran over her body contrasting with the smoothness of her skin. Her breath hitched as his kisses traveled from her ravished lips to her neck and then her breast, wet kisses bringing her nipples to a hard point.   
  
She stroked her hands over his back, feeling the muscle, the power, the scars he would carry the rest of his life. She slid her hands down in between their bodies, landing on the belt buckle and she made quick work of the clasp as well as the button of his jeans. Again he leaned up and scooted the black yoga pants she wore slowly down. 

He wanted to pleasure her more than he wanted pleasure for himself. He knew she had to have been with other men before in the last twelve years...had to have been...but he was well aware of her innocence. He was equally innocent in the way of having sex for love, not just because it felt good.    
  
Kneeling in between her legs, he slid his jeans off one leg then the other. Instead of returning to his position atop her body, he began placing kisses from her calf up to her knee, her inner thigh, feeling her tremble and moan. Working his way back up to her lips, his body again covered hers. Lifting his head, he wove his hands up and into her hair needing to touch every inch of her body.

"I've wanted you for twelve long years. I just want you to know, I never stopped thinking about you that whole time. Not even for a day."   
  
His words made her ache wonderfully all over and she lifted her hips to him, allowing him to sheath himself in her in one pleasurable thrust.

. . .   
  
Later that night, after they had dozed off, his arm resting protectively around her shoulder, her body pushed up against his. Now, though, she woke alone. Somehow or another she knew that he was still there. Sitting up, she pulled Daryl's discarded shirt over her head and soundlessly walked to the loft banister. Looking down over the living room she viewed the sight of Daryl holding Shooter. The quiet scene served to add to the wonderful ache inside her body; the ache of being loved right. The TV was off as well as the overhead light. Only a lamp cloaked them in a soft cascade of light. Sitting in the upholstered rocking chair, Daryl rocked Shooter, curled up, belly to Daryl's chest. His tiny hands cozily tucked up under his equally tiny chin. Daryl's eyes were closed and he rubbed his lips lightly over the fuzz of Shooter's dark hair.   
  
Emotions pulled deep down in her belly. This man that had had one of the most tumultuous childhoods possible was able to rise above his past and give this little boy the unconditional love that he himself had never received. She saw it in the way he looked at Shooter, the way he took care of him with no qualms or complaints, in the way he held him so close.   
  
Everyone had it wrong about Daryl, their snap judgments, Maggie's unwanted opinion. They were all wrong. If anyone that thought badly of Daryl Dixon saw him now, they would eat their opinions with a golden spoon.   
  
"You should get some sleep," Daryl spoke before opening his eyes, looking up at her.   
  
Her cover blown, she came out of the shadows of the loft and down the stairs. "How'd you know I was there?" 

She joined him on the rocker. Sitting on the arm rest, leaning her body into his arm, rubbing Shooter's back.   
  
"Sensed ya." He winked his eye at her.   
  
Oh yes, he was a hunter, but not just the type of hunter that used hunting season as an excuse to kill. Hunting was a part of Daryl, it was who he was. He could sense his prey from a half mile away, track it down, and do what needed to be done in a thankful and respectful manner. So there was no doubt he did sense her. She was his prey in ways that she couldn't quite fathom. It made her toes curl with the prospect of it.   
  
After a moment of silence Daryl spoke again, thinking maybe she could use a little bit of happy news. His voice a soft rumble. "He rolled over today."   
  
"He did?" 

Shooter had been working on rolling from his belly to his back and the opposite way for a while now. Never giving up, he kept trying, not realizing what a struggle it was. This was instinct for him, one of those things every baby had to learn to do, but that didn't make it any less significant in a child's life.   
  
"Yep, I think he surprised himself because he started to cry but once he realized what he'd done, he smiled...then kept doing it. Pretty soon he rolled off the blanket." 

Beth heard the proud Papa in his voice.  "No stoppin' him now. He'll be crawling before ya know it."   
  
It was what Beth needed to hear as a reminder that life went on. Shooter would crawl, learn to sit up on his own. He would walk. He would run. Carol would wake up in the morning, sore and hurting, but she would get out of bed and go on with her day. Taking care of Sophia, doing the best she could with the circumstances that lay before her. Beth would continue to see Daryl. They would go to Thanksgiving dinner, no matter what Maggie thought. Life went on even if Beth had no idea in which direction hers was intended to go.   
  
While in New York she often felt like a piece of seaweed, subject to the pull and push of the tides, floating aimlessly. Now she was home, she had Daryl and Shooter. It served to ground her, giving her a foundation of support to be vulnerable to the unknowns of the future.   
  
"Wait till ya' see him do it. It's the craziest thing." All Daryl could think of as he watched Scooter trying to roll over was that Beth is missing it. He wanted to experience every step of life with her. A year ago, he was a drifter, a bachelor with no rhyme or reason in his life. Now, he had a purpose in Shooter and in Beth.   
  
Daryl gazed up to Beth and they shared a look that conveyed more than either could put into words. Maybe the magnificent exhaustion she felt brought her guard down. Maybe she was feeling brave. No matter the reason, she asked, her tone light and wistful,  "Are you tryin' to make me fall in love with the baby, or with you?"   
  
He thought a moment then answered, "Maybe both."

. . .  
  
The truck was running, Shooter was tucked into his car seat, but Daryl still found it incredibly hard to let go of Beth. The bright, full moon shone down on them giving a false sense of first light to the yard. He told himself he needed to go, had to go, but his arms and body just wouldn't pull away, his feet wouldn't move.   
  
"Sure you don't wanna stay?" she asked as Daryl pushed his body into hers, her backbone aligned with the door jamb of the kitchen door. "You can stay."   
  
"I think you need to get some more rest, 'n I need to get Shooter home," he answered, trying his best to be practical.   
  
Beth smirked, running her fingers up his neck, into his hair. "Emmmm," she sighed. "I appreciate your attempt to keep my honor."   
  
Daryl grunted out a laugh, "Your honor? I was more worried about you jumping me when I turn my back."   
  
"Well, why don't we just skip the pretenses all together then? I want you to stay so you can ravish my body over and over," she purred.    
  
Daryl placed a light kiss to her lips and leaned his brow against hers. "Tempting." 

And it really was. Every part of his body, other than his brain, was yelling at him to reconsider. Shooter would want his midnight feeding soon and the can of formula he'd kept at Beth's cabin was empty.   
  
"You're 'bout dead on your feet. You need to sleep. And, honey, if I stay here, you ain't gonna be getting much sleep."  
  
"That doesn't sound so bad to me." Her hands spread over his chest leaning in, pressing her breasts into his body.  
  
Daryl's body screamed _Yes!_ but his brain knew he had to go, as did Beth's. Flirting with the idea of spending the night together was titillating. Before he left, he tilted her face up and drew her in, kissing her hard. His tongue parted her lips, lazily, with swirling penetration. Though it cost him, he pulled back. He lightly pushed her back into the house, smacking her on the ass as he did. 

"Go on. Get to bed," he ordered.

. . .   
  
"You bring the cinnamon rolls?" Maggie asked Beth in substitute of a greeting when she entered their parents home Thanksgiving morning. They hadn't spoken since their fight in the grocery store. Sisters fought, that was plain to see; they had fought before, and would most likely fight again. Beth was planning on letting Maggie take the lead in how to go from there on out. Apparently they were acting as though nothing had happened.   
  
"Yeah, of course I brought the cinnamon rolls." She nodded to the pan she carried that was covered with a dish towel, a warm doughy scent emitting into the air.   
  
"Oh, they smell so good." Annette said, as she took the pan from her, giving her a kiss on the cheek. "Happy Thanksgiving, sweetheart."   
  
"Happy Thanksgiving, Mama." Placing the rest of her belongings on the kitchen table, she asked, "What can I help you with? What needs to be done?"   
  
"Umm, let's see, your sister's working on the fruit salad. You can help me peel potatoes."   
  
"Done with the fruit salad," Maggie corrected just as Molly could be heard calling from elsewhere in the house, "Mama! I need you." And so Maggie took her exit, leaving Beth and Annette alone.

They stood together at the sink, an old bowl serving as to catch the scraps of potato peels. Annette wore an apron, covering her floral dress she wore on special occasions.   
  
"So, Maggie says you invited someone to dinner today."   
  
"Oh?" Beth asked, becoming overly interested in the potato she was peeling.   
  
"But she wouldn't tell me who."   
  
There's a surprise, Beth thought. "No?"   
  
Annette shook her head, "Nope. Are you gonna tell us who our mystery guest is, or do I have wait till he pulls up a chair at the table?"   
  
Beth set down the peeler and faced her Mother. "It's Daryl, Mama. Daryl Dixon. You remember him?"   
  
Annette was quiet except for the peeler making the jingling sound with every flick of her wrist. Beth studied her mother's face for a reaction...any kind of reaction. The suspense was making her stomach acidy.   
  
"'Course I remember him. He's always had eyes for you."   
  
Beth's jaw fell slightly ajar. Her mother will never cease to surprise her. "What?"   
  
"I think anyone with eyes to see and a brain to think would know that. It was obvious. It was also plain to see that you felt the same for him. "   
  
"Well, why didn't you ever say anythin'?" Growing up she had always had an open and honest relationship with her mother. Beth could tell her anything and know she would always have Annette's love and support.   
  
Annette, plopped a peeled potato into a pot of water, picked up another and rolled her shoulder, "I didn't want ta' interfere. I trusted you to make the right decisions. You were always so grown up, even when you were little."   
  
"So you would've been okay if I dated a man five years older than me?"   
  
"Worried your daddy something fierce. You were his baby girl." Annette chuckled. "Daryl's upbringing wasn't ideal, but your daddy is seven years older than me. And like I said, I trusted you then. Just like I trust ya' now."   
  
The tightening in her shoulders and down her back that had been building in intensity since the day she and Maggie had the argument finally loosened. Beth didn't realize how much she still craved her parents' approval. 

"Thanks Mama." Taking a deep breath she began peeling the forgotten potato in her hand. "I wish Maggie felt that way."   
  
"Aw, she's just protective of you."   
  
"I know, I know." Exasperation softly shouted in Beth's voice.   
  
Beth decided it was best for Daryl not to join them until just before their lunchtime dinner and when she heard his truck pull down the drive just as she was setting the table, she went out to meet them on the porch. Daryl wore his nicest Levi's that carried the least amount of wear and a faded grey t-shirt. It was cooler, but still Georgia, so it was a balmy sixty-five degrees. For reasons she couldn't recall, last Thanksgiving she had stayed in New York, there was an early snowstorm that blew through the city dumping almost a foot of snow on them. She was thankful to be home this year for more reasons than just the weather. Her chest constricted at the mere sight of Daryl. She felt very much like the teenage girl waiting for her date to pick her up: all excitement and nerves.   
  
"You ready for this?" she asked when he was at the bottom step of the porch, making them almost the same height.   
  
He placed a kiss to her forehead and said, "Ready as I'll ever be."   
  
She took Shooter from him, noting the miniature blue button up onesie and the smallest pair of jeans she had ever seen. "Well don'tcha look dapper?" She snuggled him in her arms and he rubbed his face into her shoulder.   
  
In the living room Hershel, Glenn and Shawn were glued to the television as a football game played out. Beth cleared her throat. "Umm, Daddy? You remember Daryl, right?" 

She had told her father he was coming to dinner, but he had remained quiet. Beth hoped it wasn't because he couldn't think of anything nice to say about the situation.   
  
A moment of silence passed. Then two.  The air was becoming thick with Beth's anxiety. Shawn let out a snicker from his spot on the couch and Beth gave him a light kick in the shin.   
  
"Ouch!" Shane yelped, the heaviness of the moment lost on him.   
  
Finally Hershel stood from his La-Z-Boy recliner and stuck out his hand. Daryl shook it strongly. "Nice to see ya' son," he said, cupping Daryl's shoulder with his free hand.   
  
"Nice to see you, too."   
  
Beth let out an audible sigh. She could handle Maggie's disapproval. Her father's, however, would have been a bit tougher to take.   
  
"You know Shawn." She gave Shawn a pointed look as her eyes grazed his. He was clearly enjoying this. Too much.   
  
"And do you know my brother-in-law, Glenn?" she asked, motioning to Glenn on the couch.   
  
"Yeah, yeah through the shop." Glenn, like so many others came to the shop whenever they needed their vehicle fixed or just wanted to waste an hour (or four) on a lazy afternoon.  "Hey man, glad you could come." Glenn said, always the peacemaker.   
  
"And this is Shooter, Daryl's son."   
  
"Well," a voice echoed down over them like a cold, drizzly fog. "Look who the cat dragged in."  This from Maggie...coming down the stairs, Molly on her hip with Michael following behind.   
  
"Holy hell, Maggie," mumbled Glenn, rubbing a hand over his face.   



	10. Chapter 10

Maggie slid Molly off her hip as she walked into the room head held high, eyeing him like a cat does a mouse. Not surprisingly, Daryl didn't back down an inch, staring right back.  
  
What felt like hours passed when in actually it was under a minute, she finally broke eye contact, her view went to Shooter.

"Well, aren't you adorable?" she said to Shooter, running a hand over his soft, dark hair. While Maggie tried to be a tough guy, babies were her weakness. "Wanna come see me?" she asked, holding out her hands lifting him from Beth's arms.

As she took Shooter from Beth, she leaned into Maggie and whispered, "Behave."  
  
"Why wouldn't I behave?" she asked, all innocence, adjusting the baby in the crook of her arm. "So, Daryl. Working at the shop now?" She asked him, a sly smoothness to her voice that put Beth's nerves on edge.

Just because Shawn had taken him on as a mechanic, just because Beth was doing whatever she was with him, just because this used to be his home away from home did not mean she was letting him off the hook.   
  
"Uh-huh. I work on the motorcycles mostly."   
  
"He's a fine mechanic too," Shawn added, winking at Daryl.   
  
"Last I knew you was still livin' in that old trailer with your brother."   
  
"Still do. Minus Merle."   
  
"Well...isn't that cozy?" She said the statement in the form of a question, making it sound all the more condescending.   
  
"Well! Who is this?" Annette asked, entering the living room from the kitchen, wiping her hands on the apron tied around her waist.   
  
"This is Shooter, Mama. Daryl's son?"   
  
"Of course, he's just such a chunkie," she said, pinching his cheeks lightly. Then her focus was on Daryl. "Daryl. Good to see you again. Glad you could join us."   
  
"Dinner smells great." Ill at ease with the attention on him, he shuffled his feet uncomfortably.   
  
"It does, doesn't it?" She said, lifting her face into the air, as though she had just noticed the yummy fragrance that emitted the house. Then her attention turned to Maggie. "Maggie can you help me for a second in the kitchen?"   
  
"I was just getting acquainted with Shooter...William's his real name, right?" she asked Daryl, her expression almost unreadable, although Beth caught the hidden daggers she shot at Daryl.   
  
"Yeah, William." Daryl chewed his thumb nail, a nervous habit he'd had since he was a child. Daryl was not intimidated by Maggie, or anyone for that matter, but the whole situation put him on high alert. The old Daryl would've told her to piss off, to leave him and his son the hell alone. He was a different person now. He'd matured exponentially in the last few months.   
  
"I'm sure you'll have more of a chance to get to know Shooter later," Annette reassured, sending her daughter 'the look' that she always gave them when they were kids.   
  
"Here, I'll take him," Glenn said, standing from the sofa taking the baby from Maggie then kneeling down to show him off to his own two children. "Molly, can you believe you and your brother were this size once?" he asked Molly, who seemed mesmerized by the little human being in her father's arms. Michael, however, was more interested in the tall stranger standing in his grandparent's living room, staring at him with huge awed eyes.   
  
Maggie followed her mother into the kitchen, looking back at Glenn holding Shooter. Her heartstrings pulled, as they always did, seeing the man she loved being so caring towards something completely little and helpless.   
  
"Mama, what is so urgent that it couldn't wait?" Maggie questioned once they were in the kitchen and out of earshot.   
  
"Your attitude, missy." Annette spoke sternly. Maggie was transported to her childhood and to one of the many times she had mouthed off to her mother.   
  
"What are you talkin' 'bout?" she asked, though she knew full well what her mother's words meant.   
  
"Now, you might not agree with your sister's choice of men, you might not even like Daryl."   
  
"What's to like?" she asked nonchalantly, taking up a serrated knife and began slicing the loaf of banana bread that was set out on the counter's cutting board.   
  
Annette placed a hand on Maggie's, stilling the cutting motion. "That doesn't matter. He is a guest in our house, and I think your sister is fond of him. So you will be nice and you will be respectful. Do ya understand me?"   
  
"But…" Maggie began to argue. Annette cut her off with a pointer finger jutting in the air.   
  
"Shush! My Mammy used to say, 'If you can't find anything nice to say, don't say anythin' at all.' Do you understand me?" she asked again.   
  
Thoroughly admonished, Maggie mumbled, "Yes ma'am."   
  
"Great!" Smiling, all sweetness and sunflowers again, Annette handed Maggie the stack of plates from the countertop. "Now, will you set the table, please?"   
  
Maggie took the plates and turning her back she began to grumble quietly to herself. "I'm a grown-ass woman. Don't need my Mama's permission to like anyone…"   
  
"What was that?" Annette asked, placing a hand to her ear. "Ya say something."   
  
Calling back over her shoulder, Maggie said, "Nope, didn't say a thing."   
  
Chuckling quietly, "Didn't think so."

. . .   
  
They all sat around the scarred wooden picnic style dinner table with benches on either side and a chair set up at each end. Passing platters of turkey, bowls of mashed potatoes and other equally yummy food. Daryl couldn't remember a time when he'd had such good food. Everyone took a turn holding Shooter on their lap while they ate with one hand holding him with the other. Shooter enjoyed a little potatoes and the smashed up pumpkin pie.   
  
Barring a few snide comments, Maggie was...civil...though he could tell it about killed her. She was good to Shooter, though, and that made her somewhat okay in Daryl's mind.   
  
The conversation flowed smoothly from one topic to the next. Daryl squirmed uncomfortably when the conversation would occasionally land on him, but as the meal progressed, he became more comfortable. Afterall they had been a big part of his life growing up. He figured he had no reason to be so nervous...and he could easily ignore Maggie.   
  
"Mr. Dixon?" A small voice filtered through the din. It was Michael. He pushed his fork over his mashed potatoes, mushing it up through the tines.   
  
"Yeah?"   
  
"My daddy says you hunt," the boy looked at Daryl across the table.    
  
"Uh-huh. I do."   
  
"I'm wanna hunt, but my daddy says I have to wait till I'm older." He glanced at his father. Glenn watched him with interest, grinning.   
  
"He's been bugging me to let him go."   
  
"How old were you when you started huntin'?" Michael asked.   
  
"Oh," Daryl thought for a moment. "I was about your age." He was probably younger but that seemed like the safest answer.   
  
Michael's eyes lit up with astonished admiration, "Weally?" He said, still unable to pronounce his R's well.   
  
"Back then, I had to do it for food. We couldn't afford to just go to the grocery store. So me, my daddy, my brother, we all had to hunt to put food on the table. You need to listen to your daddy, though. He will tell you when you're old enough ta' hunt."   
  
"Aw, okay." Michael sounded marginally disappointed and Daryl felt bad for him. Hunting had always been in his blood and he would have been just as upset as a four year old if he couldn't go out hunting. 

  
"But if it's okay with your daddy, and mama," he glanced at Maggie who appeared to be holding her breath, "Ya can come over sometime and you can try out my crossbow."   
  
Michael breath took a sharp intake. "Weally?"   
  
"Yep."   
  
Michael was on cloud nine as Hershel interjected. "I used to hunt. Back in the day, as you said it was how we put food on the table a lot of the time. By the way, how is your brother? Haven't seen him 'round here in awhile."  
  
His muscles tensed so fast a pain shot through Daryl's back. He cleared his throat, "Uh. I'm not sure to be honest. I ain't seen him in a while either."  
  
"Well, that's too bad." Hershel declared. "Family's important." He spoke honestly, without any judgment.

Thankfully Michael reared the conversation back to hunting and when he could try out Daryl's crossbow, and what was a crossbow anyway, and what the biggest deer he'd ever shot. Luckily no one brought up Merle again.

. . .  
  
After dinner, while Annette and Beth and Maggie gushed over the baby, Daryl slipped out the back door onto the back porch for a smoke. He stared out over the land that was as much a part of his childhood as his own home, if not more so. As he went through the familiar and comforting ritual of retrieving the pack of Marlboro Reds from his shirt pocket, putting one to his lips, feeling the slight tingle in his nose from the scent of tobacco and then finally lighting it, taking that first drag deep down into his lungs. His muscles instantly loosened. His head buzzed slightly. How he hated that he had to quit, and soon. He wanted to be healthy for Shooter. He never smoked around him, but the stench still hung on Daryl's clothes and he didn't want Shooter stinking like smoke. It was no longer like when he was a kid where everyone smoked. Unaware, or uncaring, of the dangers of secondhand smoke. Times have changed.   
  
"She's really not that bad."   
  
Daryl spun around to the sound of Glenn's voice. He came around a large tree in the yard, accompanied by Michael and Molly running off to play in the distance, easily burning off their large meal.   
  
"What's that?" he asked for clarification.   
  
"Maggie. She's really not that bad."   
  
Daryl nodded, blowing smoke into the air before lowering himself onto one of the rockers that lined the wraparound porch. Glenn sat on the top step, leaning back onto the wooden spindle.   
  
"She's just protective of Beth."   
  
He allotted her that, but... "Beth's a grow-up."   
  
"She knows. Doesn't make her any less concerned."   
  
"What's to be concerned about?"   
  
Glenn stared him down, not at all intimidated by a Dixon as a great deal of people in this town would be. 

"I ain't who my family used to be." Daryl told Glenn. He had plans to make the Dixon name respectable again. Or for the first time all together.  
  
"I know. I see that. And Maggie will too, she just can't let it go that easily. Give her time."   
  
"For the life of me, I can't figure out why I have to give Maggie time."   
  
Not in the least offended by his words, Glenn chuckled, "Don't you get it, man?"   
  
Daryl leaned forward, cigarette resting in between his lips, smoke coiling upward. Sarcastically he spoke, "Oh, I'm all ears. Fill me in."   
  
"It matters. It matters because it matters to Beth what Maggie thinks. They're sisters. They're Greene sisters. The blood is thick in this family. So my advice to you, whether you want it or not, is to just suck it up. Play nice. That is, if Beth means anything to you...if you plan on keeping her."   
  
Daryl nodded, "She does and I do."   
  
"Good. Anything worth keeping is worth fighting for. Maggie is just making sure you are the kind of man that'll fight for her sister. Not some pansy that'll just up and run away  with his tail between his legs when the going gets tough."   
  
Daryl hadn't thought of it that way before. Beth was worth fighting for. He'd move heaven and earth for her, he sure as hell could handle one sister.   
  
Having said his peace, Glenn hesitated, then asked, "Can I bum a smoke off you? I quit years ago before the kids, but that doesn't mean I don't want one every damn day."   
  
Daryl chuckled, and tossed the pack at Glenn.

. . .   
  
"That wasn't so bad was it?" Beth asked Daryl once they got back to the cabin, a grocery bag of leftover food containers in tow. Except for Maggie, everyone seemed to get along well.   
  
"Yeah, it was fine. I'm stuffed."   
  
"I think he is too," she motioned to Shooter, fast asleep on Daryl's shoulder.   
  
"Must've been all the turkey he ate," Daryl joked.   
  
Setting the bag of leftovers on the table, Beth went to them, putting her arms around both the baby and the man. She gave a quiet kiss to Daryl and said, "Thanks for coming. You didn't have to, but ya did anyway."   
  
"I wanted to."   
  
"But Maggie..." She bit her lip, lowering her eyes.   
  
Glenn's words echoed in his head. "I can handle Maggie."   
  
"But she was horrible."   
  
Daryl placed a kiss to Beth's forehead, talking against her skin, "She wasn't that bad."   
  
"Well, thanks for coming anyway."   
  
"Quit thanking me. I wanted to come."   
  
"That makes it all the better. Why doncha put him down for a nap in his playpen? We can have a nap of our own."   
  
Daryl liked the sound of that.   
  
After settling a sleeping Shooter in his playpen, Daryl climbed the stairs to the loft. Beth stood by the bed, only wearing the t-shirt she wore to dinner that day. It cut off mid-thigh and hung loosely along her slender body. She wanted him, made no qualms about needing him over and over again. He was her force of nature, she was unable to resist his touch, his kiss.   
  
Daryl ran his hands up her bare arms, resting on either side of her neck, thumbs brushing her cheeks, lips caressing hers. Beth stood on her toes, making his mouth more accessible so she could taste every inch of him. Her mind floated away as he picked her up and laid her onto the mattress, his body hovering over hers. As she floated, he slipped her t-shirt off, leaving her skin exposed to the roughness of his starchy shirt and jeans, making every nerve ending under her skin spark with desire.   
  
Needing to be closer to him, needing to feel his skin against hers, she impatiently pushed his shirt over his shoulders and slid it over his head. Daryl cupped her behind, marring her pristine skin with his fingers, bringing her even closer to him. She wrapped her legs around his waist, holding him tight.   
  
"I can't wait. I want you inside of me. Now," she moaned. Reaching down between them, she unzipped his pants, freeing his rigid cock, strocking the width of him. Once, twice. Her touch was almost enough to make him to lose himself right then and there. Daryl gritted his teeth as she guided him inside her tight, hot body.   
  
Beth, unable to help herself, began to move underneath him and he groaned out her name.

"Beth. Beth." Placing gentle kisses on her lips, her cheek, her closed eyelids. "Give me a minute, or this...won't last long."   
  
Beth's skin blushed with desire. The fact that he wanted her so badly made her want it even more. She whimpered when he slid out of her, kneeled, removing one leg from his jeans, then the other, effectively tangling himself in his pant legs.   
  
"Fuck. Come on." He mumbled, getting more frustrated by the second. His phone began to buzz in his back pocket. "Who the fuck is callin' me now?"

Really though, no one called him. Shawn occasionally if there was a problem at work. Or Patricia when she needed something for Shooter. And Beth. They occasional text back and forth during work hours when they couldn't be together. Sending a quick text helped quell the need they both felt when they were away from one another. But now, the shop was closed for the day and Shooter was asleep in his playpen downstairs. He didn't care if it was the Pope himself calling, he wasn't going to take time out from Beth to answer. His main concern was untangling himself from his jeans and getting back to Beth.   
  
He glanced at her as she lay on the rumpled sheets in the dwindling light of day, looking like a naked goddess with porcelain skin and an angelic face, complete with a spark in her eyes and long, flowing golden hair.   
  
Finally free of his pants, he crawled his way back up to her. To his thrill, she had rolled over onto her belly. He wanted to take it slow, wanted to be gentle, but he could no longer hold back and plunged himself into her from behind. Burying himself in her core, forcing a moan of ecstasy from somewhere deep down in her soul.   
  
Beth placed her legs together with Daryl's legs straddling her outer thighs, making for agonizingly sweet friction. Lying flat against her bare back, he whispered sultry, heated words in her ear.

"Baby, you're as tight as a fist and hot as a fire."   
  
It didn't take long to get to the point of no return, not with Daryl removing himself fully from her before entering her again over and over. Her body began to stiffen and her toes began to curl. He felt her body changing, felt her getting tighter around him. Pulling out, grabbing her wrists, he flipped her onto her back. He wanted, no, he _needed_ to look into her face, to kiss those lips. To watch as he made her come.

The tension began to build again and her body stiffened, bucked and she exploded with pleasure. Daryl felt Beth's body convulse around him and he finally allowed himself to give up the fight, and emptied himself into her.  



	11. Chapter 11

_"Well, looky you, workin' girl," Daryl teased Beth as he and Shawn slid into a window booth at the town's only diner. Beth tossed a menu at him and then sat Shawn's in front of him on the table._  
  
_"Shut it, Daryl," she spoke. The bright smile she gave her up, she was enjoying his teasing._  
  
_For the summer, Beth had taken a job as waitress working four days a week dressed in one of the ugliest outfits she ever hoped to be in the rest of her life. The one piece top and skirt that zipped up the back was bright bubblegum pink, with a white frilly apron tied around her waist and white tennis shoes completed the ensemble. Outfit aside, the job wasn't that bad, and the tips were great. However, Shawn and Daryl seemed to have taken up a new hobby of harassing her while she worked._  
  
_"What can I get y'all?"_  
  
_"Hmm…" Daryl picked up the menu and perused it with pursed lips, in apparent deep thought._  
  
_"Oh come on Daryl, ya act like there's something on there ya haven't ate before."_  
  
_Ignoring her, he asked Shawn, "I don't know, Shawn. What do you think y'all have?"_  
  
_"I'm not sure. How's the ham sandwich today?"_  
  
_"Crappy," Beth said, pen poised above the order pad._  
  
_"Sounds great, I will have the ham sandwich. Don't be light on the chips."_  
  
_Daryl pretended to look over the menu a few seconds longer just to irk Beth, then he looked at her over the top of the menu, giving her a wink. No matter how hard she tried to ignore her feelings for him, no matter how hard she tried to get him off her mind and move on, it was useless because when he went and did something like that, just a harmless little wink, it made her want to melt into her size seven white waitress Keds._  
  
_"I'll have the same,' Darly said, handing off the menu._  
  
_Truth was she liked it when they came in. Their teasing was harmless and any reason she had to see Daryl was a good one. He always left a good tip, making her feel special. Silly. Plenty of people left her good tips. She was an efficient waitress; a nice smile and friendly attitude went a long way in this profession. But when Daryl left her a crumpled twenty dollar bill, almost twice as much as what he earned working an hour at the old feed store, it made her heart swell...and it had nothing to do with the money._

_. . ._  
  
_She shoved that twenty and the rest of her tips in her skirt pocket as she made her way to her jeep parked across the road from the diner. It was late and she was tired due to the double shift she worked, so she was grateful to slide behind the wheel, thoughts of taking her shoes off and soaking in a tub dancing in her mind._  
  
_The town was dead, save for a couple cars parked down at the bar. It had rained off and on throughout the day, people were at home, snuggled up with their loved ones and she longed to be home too. However, as she turned the key in the ignition, nothing happened. She tried again and heard nothing but a repetitive click, click, click._  
  
_"Noooo," she groaned, decidedly too tired for car trouble tonight. She waited a minute before trying the key again, not wanting to flood the engine. When she tried again, it still wouldn't turn over._  
  
_"Shit!" She spat, before thumping the steering wheel with the palm of her hand. She bent down and felt for the lever that popped the hood before stepping back out onto the street. Rounding the front of the Jeep, she propped the hood up and looked down into the engine. Now what? Shawn made sure she knew how to change the oil, change a flat tire, and the other basics of vehicle maintenance but she was at a loss as to why the car wouldn't start now._  
  
_She took a breath and slammed the hood back into place, making the decision to call her brother from the phone in the diner when a voice grumbled behind her._

_"What we got here? Damsel in distress?"_  
  
_Spinning around on her heel, she was faced with Merle Dixon. She'd never met him, not formally anyhow. She knew who he was and he most likely knew who she was, or who her daddy was anyhow. She stayed away from him as best she could. Now, on the dark street she couldn't find a polite way to avoid him._  
  
_She surmised he must have just come out of the bar two doors down; she could smell the alcohol on him from where she stood five feet away. He leaned carelessly up against the brick building of the Barber Shop, cigarette hanging out of his mouth. If she really tried, she'd probably be able to find some similarities between him and Daryl, but not many. Their voices both held that graveling rumble. Where Daryl's voice made her toes want to curl, Merle's was like nails on a chalkboard. Merle was shorter than Daryl, though they carried themselves in the same cocky manner. He was older than Daryl and looked it too. He looked like he had started drinking at the age of two and hadn't stopped since. There was a yellow tinge to his skin and crow's feet nestled deeply in the corners of his eyes and mouth._  
  
_"Guess so." Beth hiked her bag up onto her shoulder and shut her car door, absently checking for traffic before her foot stepped off the curb._  
  
_"What's your hurry? I'm sure I could help ya'."_  
  
_"Oh, I'm not sure you could. I don't know what the problem is. I was just gonna call my brother."_  
  
_"Your brother?" Merle asked, swaying slightly as he moved from the wall to her car, drumming his fingers on the hood. "Pop it."_  
  
_She hesitated before opening the car door again and reaching for the lever, releasing the hood. "Yeah, Shawn. Shawn Greene."_  
  
_Looking around the hood, he focused his grey eyes on her, recognition lighting his face. "Oh, so you're little Bethy Greene?"_  
  
_"Uh huh. Listen, it's fine. My brother can just come give me a jump."_  
  
_Merle rounded the hood, standing closer than Beth felt comfortable with. Standing her ground, she refused to back away. The stench of booze and cigarettes making her nose burn._  
  
_"Well, if you ain't all grown up." He eyed her from the top of her head down to her toes. Beth's skin crawled in replustion. "I'll tell ya what, why don't I give you a jump."_  
  
_Beth heard the true meaning of those words loud and clear as he took yet another step closer, standing mere inches from her. He lifted a grimy finger, dragging the jagged fingernail down her cheek, over her jawbone, leaving a white line etched in her skin._  
  
_"Merle," Beth spoke clearly, calmly. Smiling as sweet as the midday summer sun._  
  
_"Yeah, babydoll?"_  
  
_"If you don't get away from me, I'm going to knee your balls so hard they'll end up in your throat."_  
  
_Merle's expression went from surprise to amused and to Beth's disbelief he took a step back just the slightest bit. She silently breathed a sigh of relief, relishing a brief moment of pride._

_Suddenly Daryl yelled from the doorway of the bar. "Merle! What the hell do ya' think yer doin'?"_  
  
_"Oh, nuthin, brother." He moved his head in the general direction of Daryl, his eyes staying on Beth's. "Just getting to know little Bethy Greene. Can you believe she's all but grown up now? I mean. Damn. Look at her."_  
  
_Before Beth had a second to think or react Daryl's hand was coming down on Merle's shoulder, pulling him back, slamming him against the wall._  
  
_"What the hell?" Merle shouted without malice, his mouth split in a slithering smile. "Don't be mad, I ain't tryin' to move in on your girl."_  
  
_Beth's ears perked. Your girl?  Had Daryl spoken to Merle about her? The thought simultaneously amused and angered her._  
  
_"Don't you fuckin' touch her."_  
  
_"Damn it Daryl!" Beth yelled, shoving his shoulder, making him stumble slightly._  
  
_"Excuse me?" he asked in an exaggerated tone._  
  
_"I don't need you to rescue me all the time. I can handle myself! Was handling myself before you came along." The warm fuzzies she was feeling for him earlier in the day momentarily dulled. What was it about this man that he felt he needed to protect her? She wanted a man she could stand next to, not walk behind._  
  
_"Didn't look like it from where I was standing."_

_Daryl had noticed Merle had gone missing from the bar and after searching the bathrooms he came outside to try and locate him. Merle found trouble easily. He almost went back inside when he saw him talking up some blonde haired chick. After a second look, he realized he knew that blonde chick and for some inexplicable reason, or for some reason he wasn't quite willing to admit, his blood boiled. And he reacted._  
  
_"Yeah, see, she can handle herself." Merle spoke from behind them, lighting another cigarette._  
  
_"Shut up Merle!" they yelled in unison. Merle laughed, a hoarse smoke-stained sound and raised his hands, palms out, in defeat and stumbled back to bar._  
  
_"What's wrong? Why's your hood up?" Daryl asked, noticing her Jeep for the first time._  
  
_Beth shuffled her feet, "Won't start."_  
  
_"Let me give you a ride home."_  
  
_"You're drunk."_  
  
_"I ain't drunk."_  
  
_"Jus' leave me alone. I'll walk home." She knew it was immature and petty, but she wasn't ready to give in just yet. He made her so mad, madder than anyone else ever had. Maybe she should just let him suffer for a little longer, like she suffered every damn day wanting him and not being able to have him._  
  
_"You gonna' walk all the way back to the farm?"_  
  
_"Uh huh."_  
  
_"Beth, you can't do that."_  
  
_"The hell I can't."_

_And with that she slammed the hood shut, then the car door and turned her back to him and began the long walk home. Of course once she was out of his sight, she planned to double back around to the back entrance of the diner and call her brother or father to come get her._  
  
_"Fine! Suit your damn self," he hollered after her. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he stomped back to the bar._  
  
_And she would suit herself. Just as she boasted, she could take care of herself._  
  
_As luck would have it, just as she cleared Main Street, the cloudy night sky opened up and began to pour down on her. By the time she came around the block and had the diner back in sight, she was soaked straight through her uniform. Shivering and wet, she stomped heedlessly through the puddles of water that had formed throughout the day, deepening from the current rainstorm. As she neared the back parking lot of the diner, she saw Daryl's truck sitting idle in the middle of the lot. The anger she felt earlier evaporated, like the steam rising from the pavement._  
  
_Daryl watched as Beth, thoroughly drenched, made her way down the sidewalk towards him. His throat tightening with wanton need for her. She was the only one that ever dared give it right back to him when he was dishing it out. The only one that would go toe to toe with him without a second's reluctance. She was the only woman he had ever gotten close enough to to let her get a rise out of him._  
  
_He wanted her, he couldn't ignore that need any more than he could ignore the need to breathe. Seeing her weak and soaked to the bone, he wanted to help her now, if not for the rest of his life. To do anything within his ability to make her life everything it should be. Thankfully she approached his truck without hesitation, he leaned over and opened the passenger door for her. She slid up into his truck and sat quietly, absorbing the heat that he had running at full blast._  
  
_"I'm sorry," Daryl muttered. She was also the only person he'd ever apologized to. "I know you can take care of yerself."_  
  
_Self consciously she ran a hand over her rain soaked hair, afraid of what she might look like after her rain soaked walk back to the diner._

_To Daryl she was more beautiful than he'd ever seen her. Her eyes, large and vulnerable, skin covered in goosebumps, uniform now wrinkled and wet clinging to her skin. "How'd ya know I would come back this way?"_  
  
_Daryl rolled his shoulders, "Jus' a lucky guess."_  
  
_Lucky guess or not she was grateful he had come to her rescue. Again._  
  
_Giving up, or giving in, Daryl wasn't sure which, but he leaned over meeting Beth halfway in the middle of the seat in a fit of hungry lust. He was feeling things he'd never had, feelings that were best left unsaid. Best shown and not spoken. He couldn't put together the words needed to articulate what he was feeling anyhow - feelings that were so big, so fierce and so amazing that he wasn't sure about anything anymore._  
  
_The excitement he felt, though, was bittersweet because he knew this could not last._


	12. Chapter 12

Beth laid on her side with the sheet pulled up over her naked body, the moonlight that shone through the window made her skin glow with white light. Daryl was tempted to pull that sheet down, just ever so slightly. He loved her porcelain skin, loved the way her body looked. The way it felt, smooth and soft. He lay on his side also, facing her one arm tucked under his head, the fingers on his other hand played with the sheet's edge. Beth's eyes were becoming heavy and he knew she needed rest, but he wanted to keep her awake just a tiny bit longer if he could.   
  
What was it about her that made him want to be honest with her, tell her all his secrets - the ones she didn't already to know. Baby steps he told himself, baby steps. The "what-ifs" kept yelling at him to keep his mouth shut, so he compromised by starting out small, saving the big stuff for later. They had a lifetime as far as he was concerned because he wasn't letting her go anytime soon.    
  
"Ya' know, I saw you in New York."   
  
Beth's eyes flashed open. "What?"   
  
"I saw you in New York. I was there for one reason or another." 

On a run for Merle. He chose to leave that bit of information out. He was to meet up with one of Merle's contacts, pick up the package and make his way back to Georgia. He volunteered to make the run, making a side trip further into the city. He knew which hospital she worked at, so he acted like he was a patient's relative and found out when Dr. Greene's next shift was. To Daryl's surprise, it was all relatively easy. All he had to wait for was third shift to start at eleven that night.   
  
"I wanted to see you."   
  
Beth, wide awake now, leaned up on her hand, her elbow bent into the mattress and the sheet slid, exposing more of the pale skin of her sternum. "What?" She asked again, "Why didn't you say anything?"   
  
"You were busy. Some guy came in with a knife wound. You were actually on top of him, doin' CPR as they wheeled him in on a gurney 'n you disappeared behind some doors that said 'Medical Personnel Only.'"   
  
Blending into the busy emergency waiting room, he leaned against the wall next to the exit doors waiting to see if he could get a glimpse of her and when she did come out of those doors. Looking mature and confident in her scrubs and white doctor's coat, he became paralyzed, frozen to the spot, fear coursing through his body. She'd made it, he thought with reverence. His Beth, all grown up. He knew she could do it, of course, but seeing her in action was a whole different thing.   
  
He decided in that second he did not want to see her, or more accurately, she probably wouldn't want to see him; an old friend from the hick town she grew up in and moved away from the second she got a chance. Here she was living her life as a hot-shot emergency room doctor. He doubted she wanted her past coming back to haunt her.   
  
It hurt, actually physically hurt to see her. She stood at the waiting room admissions counter, speaking to the clerk and her eyes drifted over the overflowing waiting area. People milling about, obstructing his view of her off and on. Her glance stopped for a moment on him, focusing briefly before the paramedics came rushing through the automatic doors. Beth gave him a seconds more glance before running to attend to the stab victim that had no heart beat. To his astonishment, she climbed up onto the man on the gurney, straddling his stomach and took over compressions of his chest. And that was that. He took that as his time to exit, to go back home to Georgia where he belonged.   
  
The temptation was too much though, and he saw her a few more times when he went to the city to do Merle's bidding, always volunteering to go. He made damn sure to be invisible while he watched her from afar, waiting as long as he could before having to get back home. All that for the slightest glimpse of her, whether she was hailing a cab or walking home if the weather was nice. Every time he saw her his bones would ache with need, an ache akin to an addict's search for the next score, trying to match that of the very first hit. So sick without the drug, so sick with it but needing it just the same. Just like he needed to see her, even if it wounded him deeply.   
  
Recognition flashed on Beth's face, in her eyes. "I remember that. I remember you." She pointed her finger at him. "Why...what…" She was at a loss for words. "I saw you, but it was so quick and then that guy came in. After I took care of him and came back out, you were gone. I convinced myself that it wasn't really you, that it was just my imagination. Wishful thinking. I was so homesick but afraid to come back, afraid that that would make me a failure. But then I was afraid to stay there and be unhappy. I was stuck. I thought there was no way you'd go all that way to see me." 

Her eyes filled with tears, and instantly Daryl regretted telling her. He leaned in and kissed away a tear that escaped her eye and sat balanced on the top of her cheek. "I...I don't know if I should be mad at you or not. I mean, you came all that way. Came to the hospital, you were mere feet from me but didn't say a damn word?"   
  
"Would it'ah made you feel any better if I had spoke to you. I mean, what would you have said?" All he thought about was seeing her, he didn't think far enough ahead about what he'd say if he actually got close enough to talk to her.   
  
She rolled her shoulder, sniffling away tears. "I dunno, somethin'. Anything."   
  
"I didn't know what to say. So I just left. I was a coward then. I'm different now. I promise to never let distance come between us again."   
  
Before she had a chance to turn her back on him or leave the bed entirely, he gripped her shoulder, pulling her to him. His lips capturing hers in a fit of passion and angst. She hesitated and his heart began to pound as she pulled away. "No." He spoke, the word landing on her lips.   
  
Beth couldn't say what bothered her more, him coming all that way to see her or the fact he didn't speak to her. If she was being completely honest with herself, she wasn't sure how she would've reacted to him showing up in New York out of the blue.   
  
Ultimately, she surrendered to what she wanted. She wanted him back then and she wanted him now. She wrapped her arms around him, pulling him closer until their bodies were touching. Sliding the sheet off her so they would be skin to skin. Naked in more ways than in the literal sense. She felt exposed, vulnerable - vulnerable in a way she could only expose to Daryl and no one else. She moaned when he pulled back, and sweetly touched his brow to hers.   
  
Words escaped him and the air became thick. There was the slightest shift between them. Not bad, not entirely, but Daryl felt it nonetheless. In the way he kissed her, the way she kissed him back. A lightning bolt hit him. He loved this woman with all his being. He loved her for everything she was, everything she would become. For the way she took care of everyone. He loved her loyalty to her family. He loved her for the way she accepted Shooter. He loved her for the way she never questioned him about Shooter's mother, trusting him to tell her when he was ready. He loved her for the way she so easily forgave him.   
  
Mostly though, he realized he'd always loved her.   
  
He couldn't tell her that, of course. Not yet anyhow. He wouldn't want her to think it was just a way to soften her up into forgiving him for what he'd done.   
  
The silence between them grew, and when he did speak his voice was hoarse with emotion, "I miss what we coulda' had."   
  
He wanted to kick his own ass for the time he'd wasted, the time he could have spent with her. New York didn't suit him in the least, but they could have made it work...somehow.   
  
Taken aback by his words, she blinked, letting the words soak in. "What do you mean?"   
  
"I miss what we could'a had. It was right, that you left for college. You had to do that and I'd be damned if I was gonna be the one to hold you back. But still, I sometimes wonder, what could'a been." Suddenly feeling uncertain about his words, he looked down, his eyes following his hand as it slid over her bent elbow, down her slim waist over the rounded curvature of her hip. "I dunno. It's dumb I guess."   
  
"No. That wasn't dumb." It was the most perfect thing anything anyone had ever said to her. Beth leaned in, putting her lips to his and when she pulled back her eyes were clear of any tears.   
  
After a moment or two, he asked, "So, did he make it?"   
  
"Who?'   
  
"The guy, the stab wound."   
  
Beth smiled, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, "Yeah, he did."

. . .   
  
Slowly he opened his eyes, taking a moment to adjust to the brightness of the sun shining through the window behind the bed. He looked to the right and saw that Beth's spot in the bed was empty. He realized he didn't like that feeling, waking up without her curled into him, without her arm resting over his chest. Lips slightly parted, cheeks pink from sleep, her hair a tangled mess. They hadn't been able to spend many full nights together, but it hadn't taken long to get used to being in her bed when they woke in the morning. As he gathered his senses, he saw the sun was high in the sky and the scent of bacon wafted through the air. Apparently it was later in the morning than he normally woke. Grabbing his jeans from the floor where they were discarded the night before, he slipped them over his hips and made his way down the loft stairs.   
  
A sweet lyrical tune greeted him at the bottom of the stairs. From where he stood, he saw Beth in the kitchen with Shooter on her hip. Shooter seemed mesmerized by Beth's voice, staring at her with large eyes. She held him close, running a hand softly over his cheek. She was so natural with him. She was meant to have a baby on her hip... _his_ baby on her hip. And he meant that in the least sexist way. He shook his head, running his hand through his hair, wondering what the hell had gotten into him.   
  
Daryl had had many moments in his life, mostly moments he wanted to forget. The day his Mother died being one of them. Or when his Daddy beat him so badly he prayed God would let him die that very day. But he'd had a few good days also. The day he realized he was an adult and no longer under his Father or brother's thumb hold. The days he spent with Beth when they were younger. The day he found out about Shooter's existence. He wanted to remember this day, too. Not because there was any amazing occurrence of significant magnitude. No, the scene in the kitchen was blessedly normal. He wanted to remember this day because it felt so...right.   
  
But now he had no idea what to do with these newfound feelings.   
  
Beth turned, startled, the words of the next verse stalled on her lips. "Daryl! You're up."   
  
He chuckled and strode to her, bare feet on the wood floor, and kissed her. Trying to ignore the lightheadedness he felt.   
  
Feelings, love, lightheaded. Who was this? _What_ was this?   
  
He took Shooter from her and said his good mornings to the boy. The clock on the wall said it was nine in the morning. He couldn't remember the last time he'd slept that late. Before Shooter, that's for sure. "Why didn't ya wake me up?"   
  
She turned back to the griddle on the stove that had fat, round pancakes cooking. Pancakes and bacon. Daryl's stomach grumbled. "You looked so peaceful sleeping. Plus you were out, didn't even hear Shooter crying."   
  
Guilt kicked him in the chest. "Was you cryin'? I'm sorry buddy." He apologized to the baby. Rarely did Shooter cry. Daryl was always up before him, hearing the slightest sound from his crib. Like any baby, he fussed while Daryl took a quick shower or when he was out of sight for more than a second or if he was just being grumpy . Rarely did he all out cry. Shooter didn't seem any worse for wear though, giving Daryl a gummy grin.   
  
"It's okay Daryl, I got up with him. Gave him a bottle. I think he wants some of these pancakes though."   
  
"Thank ya, Beth."   
  
"For what?"   
  
"Takin' care of 'im."   
  
Beth peered at him over her shoulder, a quizzical look on her face, "Why wouldn't I take care of him?"   
  
"I dunno." Shooter was his responsibility, plain and simple. He didn't start this with Beth so she could be his built in babysitter.   
  
"It's no big deal." She shoved off his thanks as she stacked three large pancakes onto a plate along with multiple slices of bacon and set the plate in front of him. "Syrup is in the cabinet. Butter is over there," she said, pointing to the tub on the counter.   
  
They had breakfast together, including Shooter who loved the pancakes they mashed up for him. They must have filled him up good because he was down for a mid-morning nap and Beth decided to jump in the shower before he woke back up. She pondered how much her life had changed. Not very long ago she was single, bored and feeling aimless. Now, she was showering around a baby's napping schedule.   
  
To think Daryl went all that way up to New York City just to see her...had been so close to her but let her go. It sent a shiver up her backbone and made her cheeks flare with confusion. She  couldn't make heads or tails what was happening between her and Daryl. She knew one thing for sure, it was happening fast and Beth was glad to be along for the ride. If there was one thing Beth hated most in life, it was the uncertainty it carried with it. Being a doctor taught her you could plan all you wanted and life still happened. Births, deaths, marriages, divorces. Car accidents, illness, falling in love, falling out of love. It all happened so quickly and without any warning.   
  
Part of her wanted to explore further her and Daryl's relationship, but a good part of her also did not want to know what the future held for them. She liked things the way they were. They had their problems, Maggie and Shane being the top two but the optimistic side of her said they could deal with them. Together.   
  
While Beth was in the shower, Daryl tackled the sink full of dishes from their breakfast. She had made breakfast for him so the least he could do was wash the dishes. He needed to go home, get clean clothes for himself and Shooter at some point, but he did not want to leave Beth or her cabin. His trailer didn't feel like home any longer, if it ever did. This was where he belonged.   
  
Elbow deep in suds and water, his phone began to buzz in his back pocket reminding him of the missed call from the night before. He would love nothing more than to ignore it again. Curiosity got the better of him. Reaching for the dish towel, he dried his hands before fishing his phone out of his back pocket in just enough time to miss the call. Three total missed calls and eight text messages. Daryl rolled his eyes, knowing they could only be from one person.   
  
Merle   



	13. Chapter 13

_"Where r u man?"_ _  
_ _"I'm at the house but you ain't here."_ _  
_ _"Hello!"_ _  
_ _"Fuck"_ _  
_ _"Gonna break the door in. Ain't sleepin in my truck."_   
  
And so the texts went on, each one becoming more irritable than the one before. Listening for the shower, which was still running, Daryl ducked out the kitchen door and pushed the call button next to Merle's name, reluctantly putting the phone to his ear.   
  
"Where the fuck you at, jerkwad?" Merle barked into the phone.   
  
"And hello to you too, brother." Daryl felt he should've known better. Things were just going too damn good. Something was bound to happen; something was bound to go wrong.   
  
"I almost had to sleep in my truck last night," Merle all but whined.   
  
"You have a key, have since we got the place," Daryl pointlessly reminded Merle.   
  
"Shit, I dunno where that went. Lost it years ago."   
  
"Did you break down my door?" Daryl asked, cringing at the idea of having to fork over money to fix it.   
  
"Nah, the back window was unlocked. Where are you?" he asked again.   
  
"Not home."   
  
"Well, no shit. When you gonna be back?"   
  
"I dunno. What do you want, Merle? How long you gonna be 'round?" Daryl was already weary from having to deal with him and it only had been a few minutes.   
  
"Jus' getcha ass back home. Bring breakfast."   
  
Choosing the path of least resistance, Daryl said he'd be home within the hour and hung up the phone. Merle had a tendency of showing up at the worst possible times, now being one of them. Daryl felt he was just getting his life together; things were coming together nicely with him and Beth. Shooter was doing well. And then, bam! Merle shows up, messing everything up. With any luck, he wasn't planning on staying long.   
  
Once Beth was out of the shower, Daryl told her he needed to run home, get a change of clothes for himself and Shooter and grab some more formula and cereal. He'd be back later that afternoon and, hopefully, Beth wouldn't even have to know Merle was back in town.   
  
"I haveta run into town anyway, go by work. Check on a few things." Beth spoke unenthusiastically. The clinic was closed for the holiday weekend but she had a stack of files that needed to be put away before the post-holiday rush began on Monday.   
  
They said their good-byes. Beth followed Daryl into town, him and Shooter in his truck, her in her Jeep, turning off at the clinic as he went straight through town making a left just past the town square.   
  
His stomach cringed as he pulled into his driveway, seeing Merle's shiny new Ford F-150 parked in its spot, up on the lawn parallel to the trailer. It was a sweet ride to be sure, dark metallic blue with a silver racing stripe, complete with a set of mud tires and a lift.   
  
Placing Shooter's diaper bag on the rickety porch, he opened the door then turned his back to pick up the items he sat on the porch floor and backed his way into the house.   
  
"Ya' gonna' tell me where the fuck you been?" Merle chided from where he sat at the small kitchen table, thumbing through a magazine with girls in bikinis lying on or standing next to old souped-up hot-rod’s.   
  
Daryl sat the bag on the floor at his feet once again and hesitantly turned to face Merle, holding Shooter in the crook of his arm.   
  
"You got yourself a steady piece of ass? I tell ya what, the choices in this town are slim…" Merle's words died on his lips though, as he looked up from his magazine to Daryl and then Shooter. His grey eyes grew wide with shock. "What the fuck is that still doin' here? I thought I told ya' ta' get rid a’ him."   
  
"Rid of him? Merle, he's a baby not a rabid dog." Daryl had expected this from Merle, and he had prepared himself for it, but his words still hurt him. Daryl placed an affectionate kiss to the crown of Shooter's head before setting him up in his swing, placing a ring of brightly colored plastic keys in his lap. Shooter fisted it immediately and brought them to his mouth.   
  
"I'm serious man, what the fuck you gonna do with him? You don't know anything 'bout raising no babies."   
  
Merle was right, he had no idea how to raise a baby, though he was trying his damndest to figure it out.   
  
They'd been through this before. At a loss for what to do when he found out about Shooter, he'd called his brother. Desperate for some advice, some sound guidance on what to do. It took about three seconds to realize he'd called the wrong person.   
  
"What the hell do ya mean, a kid?" Merle had asked, incredulous.   
  
And the conversation had gone down hill from there. Merle was already gone at that point, avoiding the law and hadn't come back since. Until today. Just when Daryl felt he was getting his life together, his past slapped him in the face.   
  
"What are you doin' here?" Daryl asked. Suddenly exhausted, he slumped into the chair across from Merle.   
  
"Been gone almost a year and that's the welcome home I get?"   
  
Merle referring to Daryl's home as his own home made him nervous. His door had always been open to his brother. Things were different now. "I'm surprised you're back is all. I'm sure the sheriff would love to talk to ya'."   
  
"That two-bit lawman wouldn't know I was here if I went up to him and said 'Howdy.'"   
  
"That flashy truck might draw a little attention, dontcha' think?" Apparently the drug business had been good to Merle while he'd been gone.   
  
Merle rolled his shoulders, leaning back in the kitchen chair. Kicking his feet out, crossing his ankles. "I got a proposition for ya', brother."   
  
"Proposition?" Daryl knew better than to ask. But, what the hell, it was turning into one of those days. "What are you talking 'bout?"   
  
Merle closed the magazine and leaned in. "I scored big. I mean huge." Daryl nodded for him to continue. "I jus' need your help movin' it."   
  
'Moving it' was tweaker talk for selling whichever drug he got his hands on this time. "Moving it to where?"   
  
"New York. Same guy as when you went all those times before. You'll be sweetly reimbursed."   
  
"Why can't you do it?" Not that he was considering it, but curiosity got the better of him.   
  
"You know, gotta' lay low. If I get caught I'll go to prison for a long time, probably the rest a’ my life," Merle laughed humorlessly. "But you, my goodie-two-shoes brother, would jus' getta slap on the wrist if ya' got caught."   
  
Sometimes his brother's uncaring attitude toward him made him wince, even after a lifetime of dealing with him. "You're concern about me is heartwarming," he said dryly.   
  
"Whatever, man. Listen, if ya' leave tomorrow early, you'd be back by Tuesday and we'll be a helluva lot richer!" Merle slapped his hand on the table with excitement, the sudden noise startling Shooter. He started to whimper, his bottom lip protruding into a sad little pout. Daryl stood and swooped up Shooter, who immediately stopped fussing.   
  
"What's he cryin' for? He a sissy?"   
  
Daryl was taken back to his own childhood where any softness he might have displayed, any vulnerability, he would be mocked thoroughly and it would be used against him. He learned early on not to show any emotion whatsoever. That was not how he wanted to raise Shooter. Protectiveness overcame him, so strong to the point that he had to restrain himself from physically removing Merle from his chair and out the door.

 Counting to five before he spoke, he said, "He ain't a sissy. He's a baby. Babies cry."  
  
"Well ain't you Mister Mom."

 Merle rose from his chair and sauntered over to them where Daryl stood with Shooter in the middle of the living room. Looking over Shooter, really looking at him for the first time.  
  
Taking a chance, Daryl asked, "Ya wanna' hold him?"  
  
Merle unsurprisingly recoiled. "Hell na'. He's so small, I might break 'im." Sparing Shooter one more glance before he turned away to gaze out the windows at his new truck, no doubt. He asked, "So whaddya say?"  
  
Shooter now soothed. Daryl sat with him in the rocking chair, laying him on his chest. "I say no, Merle."  
  
"Just like that?"  
  
"Just like that. 'Case you haven't noticed, I'm trying to live the right way now. I ork a clean job. Got a kid." Daryl rubbed his chin on the top of Shooters head. The baby's eyes were becoming heavy, his tiny hand resting on Daryl's chest and Daryl's heart constricted with a love so pure he almost saw white. Wondering why, of all people, he was entrusted with this little person to care for being the fuck-up that he was. He wasn't about to take this responsibility lightly. There was no way he would jeopardize Shooter's livelihood for a few bucks. On the same note, there was no way he would screw up what he and Beth had, either.  
  
"What the fuck man? I thought you were my brother. Brother's are supposed to have each others backs." Even though they were a room's distance apart, Daryl saw the look in Merle's eyes, that same look their daddy used to get when he was drunk or stoned, or just plain ol' pissed off.  
  
But he was no longer the kid that always took the brunt of his father's and brother's angry whims. He was his own man now. He was no longer under their thumb.

 Today was no different. "I can't go running off to do your biddin' no more."  
  
. . .

Sitting at her desk, a pile of charts sitting before her, Beth did everything but actually work. She pondered why the clinic didn't have everything digitized, like the average doctor's office (oh yeah, because they had no money). She played Candy Crush on her phone, checked Facebook, considered for a brief moment changing her status to i _n a relationship_ , then decided against it and took out the overflowing trash can by her desk instead.   
  
The problem was everything on her desk required concentration, something she lacked considerably these days. Her mind always wandered back to Daryl. Daryl's hair and the way it fell into his eyes when he was looking at her, Daryl's forearms and how they flexed when he wrapped them around her body. Daryl's broad strong shoulders, their silhouetted outline as he lay on top of her...   
  
"Gah!" Beth said out loud and grabbed the top chart off her desk, fanning herself with it. Staring out the window, wondering if it was too cold to crack it open. She wasn't a teenager any more, her hormones hadn't gotten the memo apparently.   
  
"Don't ya know you should lock the door when you're here all by yourself?"   
  
Beth spun around in her chair to face the doorway.   
  
"What the hell, Shane? Scare me half to death, why dontcha?" She slammed the folder back down on the stack. "'Sides don't people usually knock?"   
  
Shane gave a noncommittal shrug as he paced to the window, leaning against the sill, legs kicked out in front of him. His chestnut eyes burrowed into her own, as though he knew what she'd been thinking about. Which was silly. Right?   
  
Beginning to feel uncomfortable, she took a pen from the holder that sat on the desktop and opened the top folder. "Help you with something?" She asked, trying to appear too busy to speak with him.   
  
"I just ran into Carol Peletier at the gas station, fillin' up her van."   
  
She looked up, eyes wide with sarcasm. "Good for her. I personally hate getting gas and will wait till I'm coastin' on fumes."   
  
He ignored her sharp tongue, "Well, she looked like she's been run over by a truck."   
  
Beth's heart skipped panicked beat. Was it from the other day? Or was it fresh? "Oh?" she asked, continuing with her paperwork, refusing to make eye contact.   
  
"Had stitches, down her chin." Shane gestured with his finger where she had sewed up Carol's face.   
  
"That's too bad." And it really was, but she felt slightly relieved that at least they weren't new stitches.   
  
"I was just a-wonderin'," he paused, taking the two steps to her desk. Placing his palms on the metal desk top, leaning in. "Who sewed her up?"   
  
There was a pause as pregnant as a bride at a shotgun wedding.   
  
"I wouldn't know anything about that."   
  
"Beth? Look at me."

Taking a deep exaggerated breath, she looked up at him. "Ya wouldn't know anything about that, huh?"  
  
"No." Never being great at lying, she prayed she was convincing.   
  
"Uh-huh." He jutted out his chin. "Ya also wouldn't know that doctors are required by law to report any and all domestic violence cases they tend to."   
  
"Of course I know that." It didn't mean she would do it, though. If the pros outweighed the cons then by all means she would report it. And gladly. The chances of Ed going to jail for a night, only to come home the next day and beat Carol, or Sophia, dead were highly probable.   
  
"The offending Doctor could lose her medical license if she doesn't abide by the law."   
  
"That's a bit of an exaggeration. Besides," looking to her paperwork again, she spoke calmly, "You know as well as I do that I'd do just 'bout anythin' to bust that son of a bitch Ed."   
  
"That's what I thought," he spoke as he walked to the door again. "Since you a law-abiding citizen and all..."

. . .   
  
To his credit, Merle left in a huff without causing any damage to the trailer or to Daryl. He was just pissed and Daryl was happy to see him go. He had no idea if he'd be back to stay, but with any luck, Daryl and Shooter wouldn't be there anyhow even if he did come back.   
  
After laying Shooter down in his crib to nap for a short while, he gathered some of their things to have an extended stay at Beth's. Daryl planned on asking Beth to move in. Move in...in reverse. Instead of her moving into his trailer, he and Shooter would move into her cabin. Even though it was small, it was a thousand times nicer than his trailer. If she agreed to it, they could make it work. He didn't want to be away from her. He wanted her, wanted to start a new life with her; Merle squashed any languishing feelings he may have had for his old life.   
  
Later after Shooter woke up and he had their bag packed, as he drove down Main Street past the clinic, he tried his damndest not to become a jealous prick when he saw Shane's Bronco parked next to Beth's jeep in the clinic's parking lot.   



	14. Chapter 14

_Since that hot steamy night in Daryl's truck, when Beth's car wouldn't start and he'd waited for her to walk off her stubbornness, Daryl had let go of his reservations and they ended up seeing each other secretly every chance they got. Five minutes behind the barn, ten minutes after she worked the late shift at the dinner. A few minutes here, a few minutes there._  
  
_Sometimes she would lie, the first time she'd ever really lied to her parents about anything major, and say she was meeting a friend in town and she would meet Daryl instead. They would meet anywhere, really, it didn't matter to them where, as long as they could be together without prying eyes. Free to touch, to kiss, free to just be together. They could pretend they were a normal couple. They never labeled what they were, they just...were, and it felt amazing._  
  
_Sneaking a kiss when they hoped no one was watching was thrilling to say the least. To share something, just the two of them, was exciting and even though Beth yearned to yell it from the tree tops, she dared not say a word. Daryl preferred it that way. Not because he was ashamed he promised, but because he feared no one would understand what someone like her would be doing with someone like him. He was afraid they may accuse him of ulterior motives. What those motives were, Beth had no idea._  
  
_So, they played it cool. Daryl still came into the diner with Shawn while Beth was working. Still razzed her just the same. She would still pretend to be annoyed by it. She could feel his stare on her back while she went from table to table and when she snuck a brief glance in his direction, he would smile, only it wasn't a full smile. He gave her one of those half grins. Or he would wink...oh God, he would wink and it would make her want to melt._  
  
_She made sure to pay him no extra attention either when he was at the house. That proved to be more difficult than anything. There she felt more comfortable to tempt their fate. And tempt their fate, they did._  
  
_Daryl found himself never turning down a job that Hershel offered him, to the point of almost losing his job at the feed mill, deciding it wasn't that great a job anyhow. Hershel paid well and any chance to see Beth was the best option if you asked him._  
  
_"Brought ya some lemonade," Beth spoke, rounding the barn where Daryl was elbow deep in the engine of an aging tractor her daddy refused to give up on._  
  
_Daryl peeked out at her, it was a two second glance but he took her in. If she thought she was fooling him, trying to look casual in her midriff baring white tank top and shorts that, if they were any shorter, may as well be folded up and back in the dresser drawer, she had another thing coming. Because, hot damn she didn't used to dress like that on a lazy Sunday after church...not that he was complaining any. She looked damn good no matter what she wore. The fact that he could call her his, if only temporary, made it all the more sweet._  
  
_"Thanks, darlin'." He rounded the tractor and took the glass from her, draining it on the spot._  
  
_Beth giggled, "Thirsty?"_   
  
_He eyed her over the lip of the glass, the ice cubes clinking as he tipped it back for the last few drops of sour sweetness. "Matter-a fact, I am."_

 _Lightning fast he grabbed her by the wrist and yanked her to him. His body was hard and sweaty from the day's work. In contrast, his lips were soft and sweet, cool from the lemonade. Beth moaned and seemingly melted into his body, her hands rounding his shoulders and knocking his hat off his head, tangling her fingers in his hair. Reaching behind him, he blindly placed the empty glass on the seat of the tractor and returned his hand to her body. He ran his calloused fingertips from her hips up her ribcage, lightly passing her bare skin, skirting near millimeters from the sides of her breasts._  
  
_Pulling back, slightly breathless and wanting more, he spoke raggedly, "That did nothing to quench my thirst."_  
  
_"Mine either, but I gotta get back to the house. Mama needs my help with dinner."_  
  
_"Uh-huh." He didn't make a move to let her go. As a matter of fact, his arms closed in around her waist, pulling her closer. "Meet me later," he growled in her ear, teeth grazing her earlobe. This whole needing someone, wanting someone so badly it hurt, was new to him and he had no idea what to do with it._  
  
_In lieu of an answer, she reached up on her tiptoes and placed her lips to his once again, prying his lips with her tongue. Her hands traveled from his hair, down his muscled arms and over his chest down his rippled belly._  
  
_Abruptly she pulled away and sashayed from him back up to the house. She spared him a look over his shoulder and whispered, "See ya later."_  
  
_"Jesus Christ," he mumbled and walked directly to the water trough that lined the cattle fence and dunked his head into the cool murky water._  
  
_"Hot?" Shawn asked as he rounded the barn just in time to see Daryl come back up for air._  
  
_Daryl momentarily froze, wondering if Shawn had seen anything? "Yeah, little bit." The heat that he held in his face, vibrating through his body, had nothing to do with the July sun, though._  
  
_"Didn't I see Beth come round this way?"_  
  
_"Uh," what the hell should he say? "Yeah, she brought me some lemonade."_  
  
_"Uh-huh."_  
  
_Daryl had known Shawn a long time, but today he couldn't read his body language. He wondered how Shawn would react to him and Beth spending time together. Daryl figured he probably wouldn't approve, along with the rest of the family. His heart was telling him one thing but his mind was telling him something completely different._

_His mind said to end things now before they got too out of hand, his heart was saying to hell with that._

. . .   
  
Arriving at the cabin before Beth, Daryl decided to get dinner started. He wasn't a great cook by any means, but he hadn't starved yet and he could grill a mean burger. Shaking off the frustrations of the afternoon he got to work on making burgers on the small propane grill that sat on the small side deck.   
  
The burgers had just begun to sizzle when Beth's Jeep rolled down the drive. The last of Merle's visit disappeared when Daryl set eyes on Beth's smile.   
  
"Hey, you," she said, leaning up on her toes to kiss him briefly when she joined him on the porch. "Something smells good."   
  
"Just burgers. Get any work done?" he asked, following her into the kitchen.   
  
"Uh, yeah." No, not at all actually. She didn't say that because that may lead to a question or two that she did not want to answer at this time. She wanted nothing more than to just have a peaceful evening. Having dinner with Daryl and Shooter.

"Shooter sleepin'?" she asked, peering into the living room where his playpen remained set up. Why take it down when they spent the majority of their time there?  
  
"Yep."   
  
"How long's he been sleepin'? Should we wake him up?" She made her way to his play pen, but Daryl pulled her back with a hand on her waist, pulling her to him.   
  
"Wait," he said, pulling her into an embrace, somewhat surprising himself. Once he'd begun to become more affectionate with Beth, it became easier. "Maybe he could sleep awhile longer. We can eat alone. I wanna ask you a question."   
  
"Oh?" She asked, wrapping her arms around his waist. "Like what?"   
  
"You'll see," he said vaguely, releasing her. "Get the plates. Burgers are almost done."   
  
Shooter took an extra-long nap, which would keep him awake longer later that night, but that was alright with them. Having a quiet moment to eat dinner just the two of them was a nice change, an opportunity they'd never really had.   
  
"Well, that was one good hamburger," Beth commented around one last bite.   
  
"Y'all's Mac 'n Cheese was pretty good too." She had found a random box of Macaroni and Cheese in the cupboard and whipped it up last minute to go with their dinner.   
  
"Thanks! I'm an expert at boiling water. But now," Beth scooted from her own chair, to sit on Daryl's lap, wrapping her arms around his neck. His right hand instinctively went to her hip, the other rested on top of her thigh. He leaned in to nuzzle her neck, unable to resist the urge of that milky white smooth skin. "I can't help but notice dinner is pretty much over and you still haven't asked me what you said you wanted to ask me."   
  
Shit. She remembered.   
  
The plan was to ask Beth during dinner. Throw it in there casually in between bites of burger and forkfuls of macaroni, but he found he couldn't formulate the words. They became stuck somewhere in his throat. Again.   
  
"Oh, I don't remember."   
  
Beth snorted, "You lie." She playfully pushed her shoulder into him. He continued to nuzzle her neck, drifting lower to that divot above her collarbone. He inhaled her in, the intoxicatingly scent that was Beth. His hands moved from her hip, scooting around to her behind, cupping it firmly.   
  
Beth didn't think she'd ever be able to resist those hands, so strong and powerful, yet loving and gentle. Persevering, Beth pushed him back putting a palm on his chest, forcing some space between them. Space was good, right? Even when you share this incredible heat with someone.

"No. Not so fast. You're not gonna distract me that easily."  
  
"But I wanna distract ya." He leaned forward again, intent on that spot by her collarbone once more.   
  
"Daryl," she warned, cocking her head to the side.   
  
_Man up, Dixon_ , he told himself, taking a deep breath. "Well, I was just a-wonderin'." He looked down as he intertwined his fingers with hers; his dirty, stained, stubby fingers next to her long, clean white as snow skin.   
  
"You was wonderin?" she urged. Then speaking through a sigh, she said, "Men are so bad at this."   
  
"At what?"   
  
"Feelings. Sayin' what you want to say. Mushy stuff like that."   
  
"Oh. Yeah. I'm sorry, I ain't good at that."   
  
"Just say it," she encouraged.   
  
"I want you to...or for me. I mean for me and Shooter," he fumbled, beginning to feel impatient with his own lack of words. "I want for us to move in with you."   
  
If Beth thought she was distracted before, that was nothing compared to the distraction she felt now. Her eyes growing large she asked, "What?"

"I mean I'd ask you to move in with me. But that trailer isn't any good. Practically falling apart. Probably will blow away with the next storm. I don't want to seem pushy, you can say no if you want..."

. . .  
  
Monday morning meant back to work and Beth already lost count of the number of patients she had seen by lunchtime. It took all her power to concentrate on what ailed them and then to put her knowledge into motion to formulate a plan of action for the patient. Antibiotics, no antibiotics. Rest or further testing. It all seemed too much to task.   
  
It was all Daryl's fault she thought with only mild annoyance. Asking her if she wanted to move in. Play house like she pretended to do with her Barbie and Ken dolls when she was little.   
  
When she was small, she couldn't wait to fall in love and one day she would get married and wear a big, white, fluffy gown. She and her husband living together in wedded bliss. Of course, as she grew older she saw how silly that was. She wanted to be a doctor and what doctor had the time for marriage? And who said anything about marriage to begin with? Beth admonished herself, he only asked her to move in.   
  
In that moment she was tempted to call Maggie, but she already knew her opinion on the whole Daryl situation. If only she could just be her non judgmental sister, if only for a few minutes.

"Ugh! Back to work," Beth ordered herself. Dr. Ty, the other physician she shared the practice with, was finally in the office for the day and she took advantage of his being able to take over seeing patients to tackle the stack of file folders that remained on her desk.  
  
She had made it halfway through the stack of file folders when she came across Sophia Peletier's folder. A chill ran down her spine, replacing her light hearted annoyance with apprehension.   
  
Carol Peletier had not answered any of Beth's efforts to reach her since her husband almost beat her to death before Thanksgiving. Beth had tried being discreet, calling Carol's cell phone during the hours she knew her husband would most likely be at work, using an outgoing work line that would read only as a number, not a name. When those didn't work, she tried using her cell phone, even less discreet, she tried texting her. Each attempt gave the same results. Silence.   
  
Beth felt a responsibility for Carol and Sophia. Not only because she was their doctor, but because she was a human being. If she just sat around and allowed this to happen when she was fully aware of the extent of the abuse, she felt she was no better than Ed. Subservience by omission was still subservience.   
  
Unable to wait any longer, Beth ducked out of work, stating she needed to check up on a patient and was soon sitting idle in her Jeep at the end of the Peletiers' road. She drove slowly, her tires quietly crunching on the dead end dirt road, breathing a sigh of relief when she approached their house and saw only Carol's beat up old mini-van parked in their driveway.   
  
To say Carol was shocked to see Beth at her door was an understatement. Carol opened her mouth to speak, then abruptly shut it. When she did finally speak, her voice was sad. Resigned to the fact that Beth had come to the house.

"What are you doin' here?"  
  
"I had to check on my patient."   
  
"I'm fine, Beth. You can see that for yourself," Carol gestured with her hands.   
  
Beth eyed her. Her bruises were faded to barely a memory now. The gash on her chin was healing nicely. No redness or signs of infection. "I can remove those stitches for you while I'm here."   
  
Carol was obviously reluctant to allow Beth admittance to her home. After a moment's contemplation, she opened the door wider for her.   
  
"Sophia at school?" Beth asked, the house felt quiet without the presence of the little girl.   
  
"Yes. Would you like some coffee? Just made me a pot, won't be able to drink it all myself."   
  
Not normally a big coffee drinker, Beth wouldn't turn down a cup from Carol. She was softening toward Beth and she didn't want to deter her hospitality. So, today she would have coffee.

"Sure. Cream if you have any." Maybe that way she could choke down the vile liquid.  
  
Sitting at the dining room table, coffee mugs set between them, Beth used a small pair of sewing scissors to carefully snip the nylon that held Carol's skin together until it fused itself back together, healing into what would become a thin scar. That scar, though, held nothing when compared to the scars the woman carried on the inside.   
  
"So, I hear you 'n Daryl Dixon are an item now."   
  
Shocked, she didn't expect Carol to ask anything personal of her. "Well, yeah, I guess you could say that." Beth couldn't help the smile that parted her lips, or the flush that painted her cheeks pink.   
  
"I was surprised, I gotta say."   
  
"Why's that?" Beth was genuinely curious why everyone thought the two of them being together was odd.   
  
"You didn't let me finish. I was surprised. But when I thought about it, it wasn't such a strange thing. You two just seem to fit. When you get past the tough guy exterior, he's got a kind heart, as do you."   
  
Beth took a chance and placed her hand over Carol's. "Thank you." Needing to tell someone, anyone, the words escaped her mouth before she had a chance to stop them, "He's gonna move in." Beth looked down, fiddled with her napkin, "with me."   
  
"Is that right?" Carol smiled, a true, bona fide smile and for the first time Beth caught a glimpse of the person she once was. No fear, no ragged exhaustion, just a beautiful, confident woman.   
  
Then, just as quickly as it appeared, it faded and her face fell.   
  
It was replaced by dread. She abruptly pushed back the chair she was sitting in and stood with such force the chair slammed backward to the floor with a loud thud. "Shit. Ed's back. You gotta go."   
  
Beth stood as well, fear momentarily coursed through her body before she forced herself to be calm, forcing herself to think clearly.

"He sees my car. He knows I'm here. It's okay Carol. I can handle Ed." Beth was not easily intimidated by anyone. During her time in New York, she went toe to toe with druggies crazy with the search for their next fix, never mind that they almost overdosed just the day before. Angry husbands didn't scare her. She could take care of herself.  
  
Carol snorted a humorless laugh. "You don't know Ed."   
  
Beth knew her being there would have repercussions for Carol, but what was she to do? Shimmy out the bathroom window? They were stuck and she would deal with the situation at hand to the best of her abilities. She would not cower to Ed.   
  
They didn't have much of a choice either way before Ed barged through the front door, sending it banging against the wall. Breathing heavily, his face red with rage, he looked from Beth to Carol, "What the hell she doin' here?"   
  
"Ed, now calm down." Carol motioned with her hands. "She just stopped by to…" her words faltering.   
  
"I just came to remove the stitches in her chin." Weren't the stitches obvious? Hadn't he noticed them?    
  
"Well now it's time for you ta' leave."   
  
Maybe it was arrogance on her part, or maybe it was the stubbornness she got from her daddy, as well as her Mother, but she was unable to help herself as she picked up her coffee cup, took a sip, "But I haven't finished my coffee yet." She wasn't going to let this lug of a man bully her.   
  
"Beth," Carol warned.   
  
She took another gulp of the bitter coffee before setting the cup back down and turning to Carol. Pretending like Ed was not there at all, she placed a hand on her shoulder and said, "Call me if you need anything."   
  
"Fuckin' bitch," Beth heard Ed grumble from behind her. It took everything she had to not respond to him. Rise above it, she could hear her mother saying. She turned, grabbing her bag from where it hung on the chair. Walked past Ed, head held high.   
  
She was so close, almost home free, her hand on the door knob. That's when she felt Ed's stubby, clammy hand come down on the back of her neck. Yanking her backwards and throwing her to the floor with such force it knocked the breath from her lungs. Her vision darkening and lightening then blurring, Ed's ugly face looked down at her with angry rage, his hand tightening around her throat. 


	15. Chapter 15

"Ed! No!" Carol screamed. She threw her rail thin arms around his shoulder, but her tiny frame was no match to Ed's tree trunk-like, six foot tall frame. With the slightest push, he shrugged off his wife, sending her sailing against the wall and began an assault on Beth's face.   
  
Beth uselessly tried to block his fist as it came careening seemingly out of nowhere. When it made contact with her cheek, she saw stars and her vision returned as the sparkles faded. Ed's fingers tightened around her neck, the other hand reared back in a fist, poised to come down once again. Beth struggled to breathe, her face reddened with pressure as Ed's hand constricted around her neck. Helplessly she clawed at his hand as her vision began to fade again. Hazily she thought of Daryl, how they managed to find happiness together after all this time...after all these years. He was supposed to move in with her; this wasn't supposed to happen.   
_   
"So what do ya say?" Daryl asked. They were sitting at the kitchen table, having just finished dinner when Daryl dropped an unsuspected bombshell, asking her to move in together.   
  
She didn't have to think on it very hard.  _

_ "What do I say? I say yes!" Her Mama didn't raise no fool. She knew that when Daryl Dixon asked a question like that, he wasn't messing around.   
  
He wrapped his arms tightly around her, imprisoning her arms, "You just made me a very happy man."   
  
He released her and they stood. Placing both hands on her cheeks he gently but passionately kissed her lips. "You know, we probably got a good fifteen minutes before Shooter wakes up." He wiggled his eyebrows and she didn't need what he meant explained to her. Grabbing his hand they practically ran for the loft stairs.   
  
_ _Beth flung off her shirt as her feet touched the floor in the bedroom. Daryl's also went up over his head and he grabbed her by the waist, placing kisses to her mouth, her neck, her chest. Anywhere his mouth could find real estate on her skin, he took it. Fumbling with their jeans, they fell into the mattress in a tangled heap of legs and arms, each wanting to feel the other's skin. Finally freed of their clothes, Beth straddled his body, impaling herself on him, stopping for only a moment to relish the feel of him inside her, filling her. Then she began to move_.   
  
Fighting off the darkness, Beth looked to her right and saw Carol lay on a heap on the floor. She looked to the left. Her purse sprawled its contents on the floor. Her phone, her keys and that damned can of mace she almost sprayed Daryl with the first night he showed up on her porch. Beth reached her fingers as far as she could under Ed's grip and almost smiled when they came in contact with the cold metal can.   
  
Bam! More stars flooded her vision as Ed's first came down on the side of her face again. Despite the assault, she didn't lose her grip on the can of mace. Somehow she was able to grasp it in her palm, release the safety trigger and closing her eyes and mouth tightly, angling her head away, she sprayed the contents in the general area of Ed's face. Hoping against hope that some of the contents came into contact with his face.   
  
The salty spray must have found her intended target, because Ed bellowed and released her throat instantly. She rolled over onto her stomach, gasping for air. After fumbling for her keys and phone, leaving the rest, she stumbled to her feet and made her way to the door.   
  
One thought ran through her mind. Carol. She couldn't leave Carol. She hesitated at the door.   
  
"Go. Get outta here." Carol spoke, now halfway sitting up, looking dazed. Carol said the words as much for Beth as for herself.   
  
"I can't leave you. Come with me," Beth pleaded. She'd do anything to get Carol out of that house and away from Ed, who was satisfyingly rolling around the floor, rubbing his shirt against his burning eyes and face. Baying like a hound.   
  
"I said go!" Carol screeched, putting her hand up to stop Beth.   
  
What choice did Beth have? She couldn't force Carol to leave and it took this for the fact to finally seep in. _You can't save everyone._  Rick Grimes' words resounded in her mind. She backed out of the house, the space growing between herself and Carol and chose the relative safety of her jeep to call the police station, knowing there was no way she would let this go unreported.   
  
Beth slowly backed out of their driveway and dirt road, defeated and bruised, wondering how Carol lived day in and out with that man. But she somehow did, as many women did, some living their whole lives being beaten by their husbands. Some weren't lucky, or unlucky depending on which way you wanted to flip the coin, to live that long, dying at the hands of their abuser. This knowledge did nothing to quell her guilt.   
  
Parking at the end of the road, she found dispatch's number in her contacts and put the phone to her ear.    
  
Taking a moment to gather herself, after she placed the call, she pulled down the visor and flipped the cover of the mirror. It wasn't pretty. Her lip was split and her right cheek bone was reddened and already turning purple. Her throat was red and blotchy, finger-shaped bruises were forming along the sides of her neck. Her hair was disheveled and falling from its ponytail. Tears stung her eyes. She swallowed them. Now was not the time to fall apart.   
  
Moments later, Shane pulled up next to her car. One look at her through his window and he was out and rounding his truck, opening her door and pulling her out of hers bracing her by the elbows. 

"What the fuck happened?" he asked.   
  
"Ed. It was Ed. I was visiting Carol and he came home early. He didn't take my being there too well." A weak smile played over her lips, stinging at the cut. She placed a hand to her mouth. Closing her eyes, she continued. "But he's still there...with Carol. You've got to go make sure she's alright. I tried," the lump in her throat tightened. "I tried to get her to come with me but she...she refused."   
  
"Damn it Beth, what were you thinking?"   
  
"I…" She honestly couldn't answer him.   
  
Realizing the harshness of his words, Shane backtracked. "It's not your fault. Ed's a crazy sona' bitch." He stared at her intently for only a second more before rounding her Jeep and jumping back into the Bronco, yelling back over his shoulder for her to "Stay put!". His tires spewing gravel as he called for backup with the radio that was attached to his shoulder.   
  
Beth picked up her cell phone once again, this time dialing Daryl...   
  
"What the hell do ya mean you were attacked? By who?"   
  
Admittedly, she left a big chunk of information from Daryl. She would tell him the whole story later that evening. Until then she couldn't risk his finding out from someone else before he got off work. "I'll explain it all after ya get home." She made a mental note to also call her parents and Maggie, lest they find out from someone else, too.   
  
"That's bullshit. I'm leavin' now."   
  
"No, please don't. 'Sides you've missed enough work. My brother might fire you." She attempted a joke, but it fell flat.   
  
Mollified, he sighed, "He ain't gonna fire me."   
  
A headache began to pound behind her eyes and trailed down the side of her face that met the fate of Ed's meaty fist. She rested her head on her steering wheel as she spoke. "I'll see you in a couple hours. I'm heading home now. Gonna rest." Or down a half a bottle of aspirin, whichever came first.   
  
"Beth…" Anger intermixed with agony sounded in his voice.   
  
"I'll see you in a bit." The last thing she needed was for Daryl to fly off the handle and do something he'd regret in the heat of anger. She'd explain it all to him, safe at home where she could, hopefully, keep him from doing anything he'd regret.   
  
"If you's sure," he finally conceded, begrudgingly agreeing to finish out the work day and let her go home to rest.   
  
"Yep." Again with fake buoyancy.   
  
Beth wished she felt satisfaction rather than regret, anger and a myriad of other emotions as she watched Rick drive past her still parked at the end of the road, with Ed handcuffed in the backseat of his Jeep. Beth gave her statement to Shane. Thankfully he was professional and focused on the task at hand.   
  
Once finished with that, she made her way back home, changed out of her blood stained and ripped scrubs and into a t-shirt of Daryl's. It was soft, worn, and even though it was clean, it smelled slightly of the woods and grease. Of Daryl. She swallowed a couple Tylenol Extra Strengths and took a bottle of water upstairs, crawling under the covers of her bed.   
  
Sleepily, she gazed around the room. She never took the time to set up an actual bedroom. Just plopped down the mattress that she had carted all over New York City and then back home to Georgia. An overturned crate she found outside worked as an end table. Then there was her bookcase of books. Maybe she and Daryl could pick out bedroom furniture together since he was moving in. That is, if he still wants to move in after today.   
  
A pair of Daryl's jeans laid on the floor next to her tennis shoes. A package of unopened diapers and a box of wipes was stacked in the corner. They would need an extra dresser for Daryl's clothes, not that he had many, but he would still need a place to put what little he had. They would also need a place to put all of Shooter's things. Babies were small but they needed a lot of stuff. Beth nodded off with the comfort of that thought drifting in her mind.

. . .   
  
"Baby." Daryl's low and rough voice penetrated the depths of Beth's dream. She'd fallen asleep shortly after getting home and didn't wake till this moment. Daryl's hand gently caressed her cheek, forcing an involuntarily wince. Slowly, she opened her eyes. The bedroom was dark, evening came early with winter. Beth couldn't say if it was dinner time or midnight. "I'm gonna switch on the light, 'kay?"   
  
Trying to speak and finding she couldn't, she cleared her throat and managed a croaky "Yeah".   
  
"You been sleepin' for a while. Thought I should wake ya up." When Daryl turned back to her after switching on the bedside lamp, his eyes locked with hers quickly before voyaging over her face. He sat on the bed next to her, "What the fuck? Tell me what happened. Now."   
  
Beth slowly sat up, leaning her back against the wall, her face felt swollen and sore, her throat burned like the desert. Judging by Daryl's reaction, her bruises were darkening. 

"Can I have my water?" she asked, pointing to the bottle on the crate. He unscrewed the cap and handed it to her and she drank deeply. Lowering her water, she could only stare at her hands wrapped around the bottle, feeling the coolness seep through her skin.   
  
Daryl counted every mark on her beautiful skin. He reached up and lightly traced the bruise on her cheek. Softer, he spoke, "What happened?" He pleaded, "Tell me. Who did this? 'Cause I swear to Christ, I'll kill 'im."   
  
That got her attention, bringing her eyes back to his. His words weren't yelled in a rage of anger. He said them quietly, calmly with a promise that he meant what he said. She took his hand from her face and cradled it in her own. 

"Daryl. You gotta promise you won't do anything stupid. You got Shooter to think about. You can't go running off…"   
  
"The hell I cain't," he said through clenched teeth. "No one hurts my woman and gets away with it."   
  
"It's done. Handled. He's in custody now."   
  
"Who?" Daryl demanded.   
  
He pulled his hand from hers and the lack of heat sent a feeling of emptiness through Beth. "Ed Peletier. I was dumb, so stupid. I went there, to check on Carol." The lump that had appeared to set up permanent residence in her throat began to harden as tears burned the backs of her eyes. "He came home while I was there. He didn't like that so much." Beth sniffled, no longer having the energy to hold back her tears, she let them freely fall.   
  
"Ed did this?"   
  
"Yes. And I just left Carol there. She wouldn't leave with me. She stayed there."   
  
"Carol's a grown woman. You can't force her to leave."   
  
Beth lifted her bloodshot eyes to meet Daryl's. She pleaded, "Promise me Daryl. Promise you won't do anything."   
  
Standing from the bed, Daryl walked to the ladder that lead downstairs. Terrified he might not only leave her, but also make a huge mistake, she asked, "Do you care about me, Daryl?"   
  
Without facing her, he said, "More 'an anyone. It's you and Shooter."   
  
"Then don't leave. Just let the police sort it out."   
  
Daryl turned around and if Beth didn't know any better, tears glistened in his eyes. "I can't let 'im get away with this. He hurt you."   
  
"He did." She agreed, not only physically, her ego took a beating as well. "I'll heal. These bruises will fade. But after I heal, if you're no longer with me because you're sitting in jail over a piece of shit like Ed Peletier, where would that leave me? Where would that leave Shooter? Where would that leave us?"   
  
Her words sank in. Daryl knew Beth was right. He could ill afford such acts of stupidity, no matter how badly he wanted to act on his emotions. Instead of going after Ed, he walked back to the bed and sat next to Beth, scooting down onto the mattress with her, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close. Beth sighed a breath of relief to have his arms safely around her, right where they belonged.

. . .   
  
Beth decided to go into work the next morning. People would whisper, like they always did. It's not every day you see a person with a banged up face. It was jarring, especially for her patients, but she couldn't spend the day at home, reliving what happened over and over again. She told Sasha and Dr. Ty what had happened, but stuck with the lie that she tripped and fell into a doorframe when someone else asked what happened.   
  
By mid-afternoon her head pounded and she couldn't wait to get home and lay down. She must have looked as poorly as she felt, because Ty told her to leave early, that he'd handle the last couple of patients. She gladly took him up on his offer and went home, tucking herself back into bed.   
  
Sleep blessedly overtook her weary body and mind. Work hadn't kept her from rehashing what had happened, how she should've handled things differently, how she shouldn't have went to Carol's at all. Now that she was home, under the weighted comfort of her old patchwork quilt, tears leaked from her eyes again. The pain medication helped the throbbing of her face, head and throat but did nothing for her racing thoughts. Sleep was the only reprieve from that.

. . .   
  
It had been a long day at work and Daryl was more than happy to pick Shooter up from Patricia and Otis' and head home. Beth had been quiet all day – no phone call at lunch, not even so much as a text. When he finally sent her a text at his two o'clock break, she said she was heading home soon and would talk to him after work. Uneasiness settled over him. His woman was hurting and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it.   
  
That feeling of uneasiness magnified exponentially when he finally got to the cabin and she was, once again, sound asleep. He quietly started dinner and tried his best to keep Shooter quiet. Hopefully, sleep would help mend her. He knew she felt deterred and lost. She had become a doctor to help people and she felt she had not only failed Carol but made things worse for her.   
  
It was a mild night, so he bundled Shooter in a tiny sweatshirt and started hot dogs on the grill. He had just moved them to a plate when the rumble of an approaching car caught his attention. His anger boiled at the mere sight of the Sheriff Deputy's Bronco pulling down the drive. Balancing Shooter in the crook of his arm, he stood at the top step, giving Shane a cold stare, not hiding the animosity he felt toward the Deputy's surprise visit.   
  
"So, it's true," Shane spoke once he'd exited his vehicle, tossing the cigarette butt to the wooden step, grinding out the lit tip with the toe of his boot.   
  
Daryl, protective of Shooter, subconsciously switched him to the arm furthest from Shane. He asked, "What's true?" though he had a sneaking suspicion what Shane's words alluded to. He'd play Shane's game, only because he wanted to make things as smooth as possible for Beth.   
  
"You. A baby," Shane said, nodding his chin to Shooter.   
  
"Yeah? So?"   
  
"It's jus' a...surprise, ain't it?"   
  
"To some people, I suppose." And to himself, he wasn't going to share that with Shane though.   
  
"Where's his Mama?" Shane rarely asked a question he didn't already know the answer to, this being one of those times. It didn't take too much digging to find out the name listed as mother on someone's birth certificate. In this case an Andrea Harrison was listed as mother. Thirty-five years old, five-foot-ten, blonde haired, blue eyed with a rap sheet a mile long.   
  
"I don't think that has anything to do with you." 

The two men stood at an impasse, Shane at the bottom of the steps, Daryl by the grill, each waiting for the other to speak first.   
  
Nonplussed, Shane rolled his shoulders, looking up at the loft window. "Where's Beth?"   
  
Daryl did not have an endless store of patience and what he did have was about used up on the Deputy. There was no way he was letting him near Beth in her current unsteady state of mind.

"Why are ya here?"   
  
"I come to talk to Beth, but since you're here...seen anything of Merle lately? Word has it he was back in town for a while."   
  
Shit, would Merle ever stop haunting him, Daryl wondered. 

"Merle? Nah," he answered. "He done something wrong?"   
  
Shane snorted condescendingly, "I think the better question is when hasn't he done somethin' wrong."   
  
"Whether he has or he hasn't ain't none of my concern. Stay here," he told Shane and disappeared into the house, placing Shooter in his playpen with a stuffed toy that crinkled when he squeezed it. He returned to the deck where Shane still leaned against the spindle, waiting to continue his interrogation of Daryl's personal life. To call it anything less would've been an insult to his intelligence.   
  
"You expect me to believe you ain't spoken to him, your only kin? Someone you've followed around since you could walk?" Point blank, he asked, "You expect me to believe you're not his little gopher anymore?"   
  
Daryl crossed his arms across his chest, looking at his feet, his teeth gnawing his inner cheek. Trying his damnedest to keep his anger under control. He could no longer afford to be the hotheaded redneck, fit for a fight at any moment. "I never was his gopher," he retorted under his breath.   
  
"What was that?" Shane asked, stepping onto the bottom step. "Sure, you was his gopher. But I'm sure you were paid well for it."   
  
It was no secret what Merle did to make his cash, it was no secret that Daryl worked for him when he wanted to. It was also no secret that Shane was obviously trying to egg him on, trying to get a rise out of him. So Daryl spoke quietly, as calmly as he could, "It ain't that way no more."   
  
"Uh huh, sure. Got yourself a nice piece of ass now, want to act like you's an upstanding citizen."   
  
That's was it, the straw that broke the camel's back. Daryl skipped the top two steps and was in Shane's face, nose to nose, "What'd you say?"   
  
"Oh, hit a nerve, did I?"   
  
"You need to get the fuck outta here now before…"   
  
Pushing his chest out like a cocky rooster, Shane placed a hand on the butt of the Glock that sat in its holster on his hip. "Before you what?"   
  
Daryl took a breath, backed up when he realized what was going on. A smirk lifted half of his mouth, a sudden calmness coming over him. "Oh, I get it. That's what this is about, huh?"   
  
"What?"   
  
"You come here, throwing your deputy weight around, tryin' to cause trouble, but what's really got your knickers in a twist is that I got her," he hitched a thumb towards the house, pausing. "And you don't."   
  
"If you two are about done swingin' those things around, you both can leave."   
  
The men turned to see Beth standing at the doorway, Shooter on her hip. Shane was the first to back off, looking up to Beth. "Hey, I just come to check on ya'."   
  
"I'm fine, thanks. But I think you should go. Now."   
  
Unable to keep his mouth shut any longer, Shane began the speech he had planned to make when he and Beth were alone. "Beth, what the hell you doin' with this guy?" He motioned to Daryl with look of contempt on his face. "Do you even know anything about him?"   
  
Standing in between Beth at the doorway and Shane on the bottom step, Daryl spoke quietly, but with no less venom. "I'm warning you once - you best keep your mouth shut."   
  
"Why's that Daryl? Ya scared she might find out who you really are?"   
  
"Beth knows me, she knows who I am." But was that really the truth, he wondered. He could kick his own ass for not being honest with her sooner.   
  
"Is that right? She know you are a drug runner for Merle?"   
  
"I told you to shut your fuckin' mouth." Daryl reached forward and grasped Shane by his collar, slamming him against the railing. That didn't stop Shane and that damn mouth of his.   
  
"She know that Shooter's mom is just some drugged out crack-whore?" The question was directed at Daryl but Shane was looking at Beth, judging her reaction.   
  
Daryl lowered his face to Shane's, talking through clenched teeth, "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't beat the fuck outta you right now."   
  
"I don't know, do ya wanna spend the night in jail?"   
  
"Damn it, if you two want to beat the hell out of each other, go right ahead, but get the hell off my property if you're gonna do it!"   
  
Daryl froze, looking up at her, his fist hanging in midair at Beth's words. She turned and went back inside and shut the door behind her and Shooter.   
  
"What Daryl? Gonna' run off after your woman like some whipped puppy?" Shane egged him on.   
  
Daryl released his shirt, pushing him back two steps. 

"Leave. Now." 

He watched as Shane, without saying a word, feeling content with the trouble he'd caused, climbed back into his Bronco and backed out of the driveway. Turning back to the house Daryl stared at the door leading into the kitchen. Taking a breath, he went inside.   
  
Beth was talking quietly to Shooter, zipping up his diaper bag that sat on the table. With her back to Daryl she asked, "You mind tellin' me what that was all about?"   
  
"He's a prick," Daryl said by way of explanation.   
  
"Not that. I know that much. Your comment. 'I got her and you don't.' What is this, some pissing match between the two of you? Are one of you gonna club me over the head next and drag me off to your cave? The one with the biggest penis wins?" She'd about had it with chauvinistic men, whether they behaved that way on purpose or not. Whether they had her 'best intentions at heart or not.   
  
"It ain't like that Beth."   
  
She turned to face him. "Sure looks that way to me."   
  
"I'm not sure what y'all had, but he ain't got all his dogs barkin', if you know what I mean."   
  
"You think I don't know that? I came up with that conclusion all by myself. I broke it off with him before I started up with you, in case you don't remember."   
  
"He won't give up on you."   
  
"That's between me and him, Daryl. Believe me, I can handle Shane. What is with you? And with Shane? I can deal with things by myself, ya' know. I'm a big girl. I don't need you to come to the rescue every time I have a problem."   
  
"I was just tryin' to help."   
  
"Well don't!" The sudden uptick of her voice startled Shooter and she bounced him on her hip, placing a kiss on his cheek, whispering, "I'm sorry, baby."   
  
The room became deafeningly quiet. Daryl stood at the door and Beth at the table. They were only a few feet from one another, yet miles away.   
  
Their argument at an impasse, Shane's words hung over him like a dark cloud. To have all his secrets revealed by that weaselly little prick made everything worse. "I should've told you sooner about everything," he admitted.   
  
Beth shrugged her shoulders. "I coulda asked."   
  
"But you wouldn't do that. You wanted to wait till I was ready to tell you. I shoulda told you," he said again.   
  
She wished it didn't matter what Shane said, wished she could be big enough to let it go and to just trust in Daryl...trust in herself...but curiosity got the best of her. "What Shane said. It's true?"   
  
He ducked his head in shame. "It ain't nothin' I'm proud of, but yeah. I use to run drugs for Merle. I don't now, not since Shooter and not since you."   
  
"That's what you've been doin' since I left town?"   
  
He nodded. "I was lost...for a long time."   
  
"And Shooter's mom?"   
  
"She was a regular of Merle's. Crank, crack, meth, it didn't matter. We hooked up a few times. So did everyone else."   
  
Beth deduced, "Shooter might not be yours?"   
  
Daryl shook his head back and forth. "Who knows? Don't matter now. She asked me to take care of him. Told me that I was, believe it or not, the straightest person she knew, which just means I wasn't plowed all the damn day long. Anyway, one day I get a call from her. I hadn't seen her in months, but she called out of the blue. Askin' me to come to the hospital. And I thought, fuck, she's overdosed. So I go down there and it turns out she had a baby. She was in no way able to take care of it."   
  
"You took him."   
  
"Yeah. Gave him a name. Signed the birth certificate. Took him home. Almost too easy. It took more paperwork to buy my friggin' truck."   
  
"And? What if she comes back for him?" Even the words spoken aloud made her heart constrict in her chest. She had fallen for Shooter as much as she had for Daryl. It didn't change the fact that Shooter wasn't hers. "What have I been thinkin', playing mom to him when he already has one?" She couldn't risk that kind of heartache if she continued to love him and Daryl, only to have it all taken away.   
  
"Won't happen. She won't come back for him."   


"How can you be so sure?" Beth asked, her exasperation reaching epic levels. She held up her hand before he could answer. "This is too much to take in right now," Beth all but whispered to herself. 

Carol, Ed. Her mangled face. Maggie. Shooter. Shooter's drug addicted mother. Daryl. Shane. All the forces that be were making her eyes cross with confusion. She passed Shooter off to Daryl, not looking him the eye. It hurt too much to see the ache in his eyes. She took the diaper bag off the table and handed that to him too.  
  
"You should go." Her voice shook, but her eyes were clear, bright with...what? He couldn't quite tell. Hurt, for sure, but anger? Confusion?  
  
"Go? Where?" Daryl asked, taking the bag from her, knowing the answer. His ears began to ring to the pounding of his heart.   
  
"Home."  
  
"I am home."  
  
"No, no you're not."  
  
Pressure began to develop in his chest. Is this what having your heart broke feels like? "What's this really about? Let me explain. What Shane said, 'bout me, 'bout Shooter's mother. Beth, don't do this."  
  
Yet, she was doing it. "You've been less than honest with me, that's obvious. But then, I didn't ask either." She admitted. "Still... Please, don't make this any harder than it's gotta be." Her voice broke, emotion hiccupped to the surface.  
  
Daryl took a step toward her. She took a step backward. Her face contorted involuntarily on a sob. She placed a hand to her mouth. Her lip, still split from Ed's fist, her eye pounding, throat aching and now her stomach became nauseous. "I need some space to figure everything out."  
  
"I ain't gonna' beg, but please..."  
  
Beth had never been so confounded. She wanted him to stay, but she needed him to go.  
  
"Go!" She yelled, "Get out!" Sorrowfully, she turned her back to Daryl and left the room, retreating to her bedroom. Alone.  



	16. Chapter 16

The minutes, hours, days dragged by at a snail's pace. Life without Beth was agonizingly slow, like his boots had been dipped in concrete. His mind was foggy and he found himself forgetting things that should have been second nature to him. The only reprieve from the constant ache that rang throughout his whole body was Shooter. His smile, his whole being is what got Daryl through. Without him, he would've, no doubt, gone back to his old habits of booze, drugs and unattached sex.  
  
He felt isolated and alone. He went to work, came home, spent time with Shooter until Shooter went to bed and then he sat alone until sleep finally took him. Always an introvert, he'd never been comfortable around people, but Beth wasn't just anyone and he didn't feel just any way about her. He loved her. As cliché as it sounded, he felt as though he were dying inside without her. Even Shooter seemed off; it was clear he missed her too.   
  
It had been four days since she'd said she needed space, needed to figure everything out. How much space did she need? What exactly did she need to figure out? He had half a mind to call her. Maybe even just a text...   
  
Shooter sat on the floor on his blanket, playing with his ring of plastic keys. He had mastered sitting on his own in the past week. Of course, Beth was missing it and they both were missing her. Daryl scooped Shooter up and plopped back onto the couch with him in his lap. "What do ya' think, Shooter? Should I call Beth?" Shooter looked at him with his big soulful eyes and smiled, a tiny giggle sounded merrily.   
  
Shooter didn't have any more answers than Daryl did. He did have half a mind to show Shane how he felt...with his fists...but that wouldn't solve anything either. Though it would make him feel a hell of a lot better.   
  
So instead, just like the last four nights, he did nothing. He stayed in this ambivalent purgatory.

. . .   
  
Maggie must've sensed something was wrong with Beth because she had called out of the blue, wanting to come over to 'just hang out'. Maybe she'd heard through the grapevine about her and Daryl, but Beth doubted it. She hadn't told anyone and doubted that Daryl did. Whatever the why or the how, Maggie was at the cabin, sitting on the couch slowly drinking a Bud Light to her lips. She claimed she needed some sister time, but whatever her reasoning was, Beth would take it. She and Maggie may disagree, but Maggie was there for her when it counted and vice versa. Sometimes having a sister was beneficial.

Beth didn't have many close girlfriends having jumped headfirst into working sixty-five hour weeks after she moved back. She hadn't had much time to reconnect with many of her old friends. When you have a sister, you have a built in best friend, even if she was a pain in the rear more often than not.  
  
Maggie took one look at Beth and knew something was wrong, something other than getting her lights pounded out by Ed Peletier. After they'd talked about work, about the twins, about their parents, about Christmas that was quickly approaching and Ed being out on bail, Maggie casually looked around the cabin and said, "So. Where's Wild Man of Borneo?"   
  
Beth sipped her beer, "What?"   
  
"Your man. Where's he at? I didn't trip over any big ol' boots at the door, no deer carcass in the fridge." Maggie snorted at her own humor.   
  
Rolling her eyes, she said, "I dunno. Not here."   
  
"Wait...I thought you two were all lovey dovey."   
  
Beth lifted her shoulders, trying to appear nonchalant, failing miserably. Tears immediately came to her eyes as she struggled to formulate the words. "Shane got everything all screwed up. I let him get everything all screwed up," she corrected herself.   
  
"Shane?" Maggie had a hunch there was much more to this story. She sat her beer on the end table and folded her legs under her, settling in. "Alright. Spill it sister." It was something she'd always said to Beth when she hemmed and hawed her way around a story.   
  
Not quite wanting to tell Maggie everything, but really needing to just the same, she told Maggie everything. About Shane coming to the house. A bout Shane and Daryl almost getting into it. About Beth's anger over both men needing to fix things for her. And, finally, about Shooter's mother.   
  
"Don't you know men are fixers? They have to try and fix things or they get jittery. That's easily forgivable. And, as far as Shooter goes, that's pretty admirable. Just taking on a newborn because someone asked him to, no questions asked? That takes a lot of guts."   
  
Tipping back her beer, tears still streaming down her face. Basically a complete mess, Beth stopped mid-swig. "You're defending Daryl?" Beth asked, utterly shocked.   
  
"I know I give him hell and I give you hell about him. Truth is, as much as it pains me to say so, he's a good guy. He had a rough patch. Well, like, his whole life up till about seven months ago was a rough patch. Now though, he seems to be on the straight and narrow."   
  
Beth stared at Maggie, dumbfounded. "You _are_ defending him. Maybe I should get my head checked out by Dr. Ty. Maybe Ed knocked something loose. I havta' be hallucinating."   
  
Maggie laughed, swatting at Beth's shoulder. "Shush, you. But seriously, after you left for college he just kinda checked out. Just did whatever Merle told him to do. You took a piece of him with you. He wasn't whole again till you came back."   
  
Indignation replaced the momentary reprieve from sadness, "Well what should I do? I don't know what to think anymore. If he was so lost, why didn't he try to contact me? I was gone twelve years, Maggie! Twelve! Not once did he call me or try to contact me." Beth slammed her beer down on the table and shot to her feet to pace the space from the couch to the fireplace and back again, running her fingers through her tangled unwashed hair. "He even came to the city, but did he say anything to me? No!"   
  
"He came to the city? To New York?"   
  
"Yes! Stood mere feet away from me and didn't say a damn word. I mean, who does that?"   
  
"I'll tell you who does that – someone so in love they will put the other person's needs and wants before their own. He knew he didn't fit in up there in New York City, knew you didn't fit in down here, that you needed to make something of yourself. He probably saw that when he was there. It was proof to what he already knew."   
  
"And what's that?"   
  
"That you're too good for him."   
  
"Maggie, I'm not too good for him." Beth plopped back down on the couch, picking up her beer and draining it.   
  
Maggie reached out, rubbing her shoulder. "No one will ever been good enough for my baby sister."

When Beth gave Maggie the side-eye, she gave Beth a wink. Sometimes Maggie's forthrightfulness and protectiveness weighed on Beth greatly, but then she remembered it was done out of love and her anger evaporated.  
  
"So, what do you suggest I do?"   
  
Maggie couldn't answer that for her, even though she desperately wanted to. Instead, she asked, "What do you _want_ to do?"   
  
"I don't know. What if..."   
  
"Nope." Maggie interrupted. "What if you get hit by a truck tomorrow. What if Daryl gets abducted by aliens? No, no what if's. There are no certainties in this life. Somethings you just have to leave up to chance."   
  
. . .   
  
Beth wished she felt better after Maggie left, but she couldn't say that she did. She still did not have any answers. Head pounding, stomach queasy from drinking alcohol on an empty stomach, she stumbled up the stairs. The room was chilly with the December wind and she was too lazy to go back down the stairs to stoke up the dwindling fire. Deciding instead all she needed was another blanket and a good night's sleep and tomorrow she would start to make some choices. Tonight, she would sleep.

Beth went to the closet that was tucked under the eave of the house. She reached up on her toes for an extra blanket that was folded on the top shelf; she pulled it and the contents of a shoebox full of memories down on herself. The lid fell off and the contents of the box fell to the floor.  
  
"Shit." Beth said half-heartedly, then kneeling down she began to gather the old paraphernalia and keepsakes from growing up. A lock of her own hair when she cut it from waist length to chin length in tenth grade. Her tassel from high school graduation. An old Polaroid lay face down on the wood flooring. Beth knew exactly what that old photo would be of. She remembered well when it and the moment it was taken. Still, her hands trembled when she flipped it over.   
  
The grainy Polaroid was worn, faded and darkened in the corners but the image of the two people in the photo remained. The words "Me and Daryl" were written in her girly writing on the white space along the bottom. She and Daryl were in the center of the picture, heads leaning in together. Daryl's hand was over his mouth as well as hers, leaving it up to speculation if they were kissing or not. Beth remembered back, they were not kissing in the picture, though they did later…

. . .   
  
_"Ya' gonna' come to my going away party?" Beth asked Daryl._

_The night was quiet, except for the muffled crickets chirping, and an occasional bull frog's grunt. Their usual spot to meet was the loft in the barn. It was convenient for Beth to sneak out and sneak back into the house and Daryl could easily walk there from his house, leaving his truck at home. The yard light shining through the loft door lit up the loft in a haze of yellow illumination. They had spread out a saddle blanket on the flooring, surrounded by square hay bales. It was like they were in their own little world when they were up there and Beth loved it. She rested her head on Daryl's shoulder and his other arm pillowed his head. They had been laying in silence, not feeling the need to fill the quiet night with idle talk, but Beth could no longer hold in the question she'd wanted to ask. She casually brought up the party a few weeks ago, hoping against hope that Daryl would want to go, knowing he probably wouldn't. She prepared herself for when he said no._

  
_"What goin' away party?"_  
  
_"Daryl," she said, letting his name drag out, elbowing him lightly in the ribs. "You know what party I'm talking 'bout."_  
  
_"Oh, that one." He teased. "I dunno."_  
  
_Beth sighed, she was afraid of that. "I'd really like it if you came."_  
  
_"No one knows we are together, remember? It would be weird. I mean, what if I accidently grab for your hand or worse yet kiss you. Your daddy would have my hide."_  
  
_"That won't happen. I think you can keep your hands off of me for a little while."_  
  
_"I don't know 'bout that." He said, rolling on top of her, placing his hands on either side of her head. Brushing her hair back from her face. Her arms came up around his shoulders, linking her fingers behind his neck._

 _" It'd be very scandalous. Man takes advantage of farmer's daughter. It'd be entertaining though. Get everyone's tongues a waggin'."_  
  
_"Pul-leaze. You ain't takin' advantage of nothing. If anything, I'm takin' advantage of you."_  
  
_"Oh, is that right?"_  
  
_Lifting her head upward, angling her head to the right, lightly placing her lips to his then pulling back, speaking lightly, "Yep, I'm a bad influence on you, all right." She angled her head to the left, kissing him again then let him penetrate her lips with his tongue, taking the kiss deeper._  
  
_Daryl chuckled, but then his face became serious. "When do you leave?"_

 _They didn't really talk about her leaving much. They just lived in each moment they had together. They'd been sneaking around all summer and now it was nearing the end of August, which meant fall in some parts of the world. In Georgia it just meant exaggerated dry heat. It also meant back to school. Or college for Beth._  
  
_"Day after tomorrow."_  
  
_"Oh." His eyes became sad and he lowered his mouth to hers once again. Words couldn't convey what his kisses did to her. Parts of her body that she didn't even realize existed came alive. Her skin became sensitive to his touch. Her lips ached for his. Every touch of his fingers, made her skin vibrate._  
  
_Before things went too far and they became lost in their kisses, Beth put a palm to his chest, pushed lightly. "Hold on. I got something the other day, wanna show you."_

_She pushed up and grabbed her bag that was near their feet. She used the canvas bag when they met up at night. She would bring Daryl leftovers from dinner or dessert or just something to drink and a blanket when they were meeting someplace that didn't already have one, like the barn did. Tonight it contained a Polaroid camera. "_

_I wanna take our picture, so I'll have one when I...when I go."_  
  
_"Picture, huh?" Daryl looked at her skeptically. "Ain't no one never wanted my picture before."_  
  
_"Yeah, well I do. Come here," she ordered, scooting back over to him, she flipped around the camera, and held it at an arm's length away and snapped a picture, the flash blinding them both._  
  
_"Damn, I can't see now."_  
  
_"Aw, don't be such a baby," Beth teased, then took a couple more._   
  
_"What if someone sees these?"_  
  
_"No one will," she reassured him._  
  
_"Scandal," Daryl joked again, placing his hand over their mouths, leaning his head into hers as she snapped the picture again. He took the camera from her and took a couple of her alone, to which she gamely posed for._

 _"I get to keep these. Sweet Beth, smiling for the camera."_  
  
_"I doubt that anyone would really care. About us, I mean. My folks know you. They know me, trust me."_  
  
_"Yeah, but they won't trust you so much if they find out you been sneaking out at night to see me."_  
  
_Beth rolled her eyes. "You're too hard on yourself."_

 _. . ._  
  
And now Beth realized she was the one being hard on him. He really didn't do anything wrong, except not tell her what he's been doing the last few years, which technically had nothing to do with her. As long as he was no longer dealing drugs, why did she have a problem with it now? It's not who he is any longer.   
  
Cradling the picture that felt like it was taken eons ago, she wondered why she was punishing him for who he used to be. Isn't that what everyone's ever done to him? Shame reddened her cheeks, she was no different. Still, she held lingering uncertainties about Shooter's mother. Yes, she was a junkie, but junkies can get clean, start their life over again. What if she did that and one day wanted Shooter back? The thought terrified her. She loved Shooter like her own. It would crush her to have him leave. And Daryl, well, she didn't even want to think how he would feel. It hurt too much.   
  
Could she live solitarily the rest of her life because she was afraid she might be hurt? No, she knew with certainty that was no way to live. In the end, the only regret she would have is not taking a chance.   
  
Beth scrambled on her knees to the bed where she tossed her phone. Looking at the time, she realized it was past midnight already. He and Shooter would be in bed. She made a promise to call him first thing in the morning. Climbing into her bed with the extra blanket she had retrieved from the closet, along with the photograph, she fell immediately asleep for the first time in four days. 


	17. Chapter 17

Thanks for reading!!

* * *

 

 

Beth slept heavily through the night and when she woke the next morning to the sound of her phone buzzing, her first thought went to him. Searching through her pillows and blankets she finally located her phone. Sadly, the number that flashed on the screen was not Daryl's.  
  
It was Carol.   
  
Blinking her eyes, it wasn't morning. Not quite anyhow. There was a slight lightening in the far corner of the east sky, but the room was dark and cold. Beth slid her finger over the screen and put the phone to her ear. "Carol?" she croaked, her voice scratchy and dry.   
  
Fifteen minutes later, barley taking the time to throw her hair back in a band and rinse out her mouth with mouthwash. Wearing the scrubs she'd never changed out of after work yesterday and slept in that night, she was on Carol's doorstep, exhausted and hungover.   
  
"Thank God. Come...come in." Carol clasped Beth's hand, pulling her inside. She was visibly shaking, her eyes were emotionless holes, dark and pensive. The little porch light provided just enough illumination that Beth caught something dark and wet matted Carol's shirt.   
  
"What's goin' on? Are you okay?" Dumb question, obviously Carol was not. "What happened? Is that blood…" Beth was able to get a better view of Carol when she pulled her into the light of the living room. Her grey t-shirt was splatter with dark red splotches, sprayed up her neck. Fear gripped Beth so tightly she was hardly able to breath. She forced herself to take a breath in through the nose and out the mouth. A metallic tinge hung heavily in the air like smoke from a fire filling the house.   
  
"Where is Ed?" She asked, afraid of her answer.   
  
Carol did not answer, only pointed to a room off the living room. The door was ajar, a quiet light shone through the crack. Beth suddenly became aware of her own body. Aware of how her head ached, how her stomach churned from the alcohol she consumed the night before, she couldn't remember the last time she ate. She swayed with weakness as she forced herself to turn toward what she guessed to be the Peletier's bedroom.   
  
"In here?" She asked, pointing, to which Carol nodded. Beth surmised she wanted her to enter the room. Carol's stayed glued to her spot in the middle of the living room, looking quiet and contrite with her hands folded neatly in front of her. Except for the forming bruises and - oh yeah, the blood splattered all over her, she looked like a kindly librarian.   
  
Forcing herself, Beth pushed open the bedroom door. The room was as neat and tidy as the rest of the house. The walls were painted in a light blue, the queen bed in the middle of the room with it's pale pink comforter and precisely folded quilt at the foot of the bed. A tall dresser sat in the corner; old but shiny without a speck of dust. Nothing seemed mussed or out of place.

Taking a step further in, on the other side of the bed is where she found him. Ed was laying on his side on the floor, swathed in a pool of his own blood. His head was almost concave on one side. A baseball bat leaned in the corner of the room next to him, as though someone had just played a game of softball and hadn't yet returned it to the closet where it belonged. It too, was wet with blood.  
  
Frozen with dread, Beth was unable to move forward or backwards. Bile rose up her throat. Choking it back, she reminded herself she was a doctor and she could and would handle this. Slowly, cautiously, she forced herself to move towards Ed. He was still, not moving and from what she saw, not breathing. She kneeled down next to him, avoiding the blood as best she could, touching the pulse point in his neck. She wasn't sure what to hope for, a pulse or no pulse.   
  
"He dead?" From the corner of her eye, Beth saw Carol's shadow darkening the doorway. Her voice was eerily calm.   
  
Anything but calm, Beth was terrified with hands shaking, voice trembling, she in the affirmative. "No pulse."   
  
Using the bed to stand, Beth held tight to the iron bedpost, unable to trust her own legs to hold her own body up. She had dealt with death many times before. Brutal death at that, but this...this was different. Beth slid down to sit on the bed, rubbing her cold hands over her face. Ed had it coming for sure. You push and push and push someone, eventually they will snap. That didn't take away the disquieted aspect of the events.   
  
Even though her head pounded with incoherent half thoughts, the next logical step became apparent. "We have to call Rick."   
  
With her elbows on her knees, her face on her hands, she felt the weight of Carol sitting next to her on the bed.

"I couldn't do it anymore, Beth. He was becoming more and more angry. More and more out of control. I was afraid he'd go after Sophia. I...I just couldn't handle it anymore, I guess. I had to protect Sophia."  
  
Lowering her hands from her face, her eyes went to Carol's. For the first time since she had known her, Carol looked confident, sure about her decision. "I understand." A person could take only so much. "Where is Sophia?"   
  
Carol gestured above them, "Up in her room, asleep."   
  
"We have to call the police." Beth repeated   
  
"No. We can't." Carol's voice went from impassive to a shrill of panic. "They'll arrest me."   
  
"Carol..." The last thing Beth wanted was for Carol to panic. Beth stood and went to the door of the bedroom. "What do you think we should do? We can't hide his body."   
  
"I dunno. But I can't leave Sophia."   
  
"Sophia is going to wake up soon, she can't come downstairs to…." Beth gestured with her hand, "to this."   
  
"I know. What am I gonna do?"   
  
Beth went to Carol, kneeling down in front of her, looking up into her face. "Carol, there ain't a court in the land that'll convict you against Ed's abuse. You have plenty of people that'll testify to what he's done to you over the years. Including your doctor." She said, speaking of herself. She would lay her hand on a bible and gladly tell any judge what Ed had done to Carol physically and mentally over the years. Not to mention how Ed attacked Beth for no other reason than helping Carol.   
  
"I had to protect Sophia." She reiterated. Beth was not a parent, but she appreciated Carol's deep need to protect her daughter from her monstrous father.   
  
"You're right. You have to continue to protect her. Rick will understand. He'll know what to do…" Beth reassured her, hoping she was right.   
  
Taking Carol's nonresponse as an answer, she dug her phone from her pocket and called Rick's personal cell number. She was resolved that Shane would most likely be called in as well. This wasn't about her, she reminded herself, as the phone rang once, twice. This was about Carol. And Sophia. Her personal life did not, could not, weigh in. A woman who Beth assumed to be Rick's wife answered on the fourth ring with a sleepy, "Hello?"   
  
Rick promised to be there as soon as possible after Beth explained that there'd been an accident at the Peletier home. He didn't question her further.   
  
The two women moved to the living room. Beth was not able to sit still, she paced back and forth, then stood staring out the front windows for any sign of headlights that may be Rick's. Carol sat motionless on the edge of the sofa.   
  
The silence was almost deafening until Carol spoke up. "Maybe I should check on Sophia. She'll sleep through till nine if I let her…maybe she'll sleep through all this," she hoped. Carol stood, and disappeared up the stairs.   
  
Beth once again took her phone from her pocket, remembering her oath from the night before to call Daryl first thing in the morning. That was out of the question right now, Rick was due at any second. She felt a proverbial clock ticking, as though there was a moratorium on the time she had to call Daryl. Which was silly, of course. Still, she felt time floating away and out of her grasp.    
  
Interrupting her the thoughts that were soaring through her mind at the speed of light, Carol's scream sounded from upstairs. "Sophia!"    
  
Beth raced up the stairs, two at a time.

"Sophia!" Carol came from the girls bedroom and went to the bathroom, switching on the light. It was just as empty as her bedroom. A deer caught in the headlights, eyes huge, body stiff, she stood in the bathroom doorway. "She's gone."  
  
"What do you mean she's gone?" Beth looked into the bedroom herself, knowing she wouldn't find anything, or anyone, that Carol hadn't. It's pale blue walls to match the bedroom downstairs, a twin bed with white picket fence headboard and a rumpled purple comforter with bright pink flowers. It was empty. Missing the little girl that should be curled up under the blanket fast asleep.   
  
"She's gone! As in not here!" Carol yelled, running back into the bedroom, needlessly throwing back the covers of the bed. At the same time, there was a pounding at the door downstairs, then Rick yelled, "Hello? Where ya'll at?"   
  
. . .   
  
The next hour was filled with chaos and questions. Officials coming and going. Rick, Shane, personnel from the medical examiner's office. Shane and another volunteer deputy were supposedly out checking the perimeter of the house that backed into the woods for Sophia. They could hear them calling for her, their voices getting further and further away. It was maddening to both Beth and Carol. Carol was understandably hysterical. Why didn't they have more people out searching for her they wondered out loud numerous times. Rick tried to reassure them he was doing what they could. His words fell on Carol's deaf ears.    
  
Sitting on the sofa, Beth put her arms around Carol's shoulders just to try to quell the shaking, which quickened exponentially when the medical examiner finally wheeled Ed's body out of the house on a gurney in a black body bag.   
  
After helping with the gurney down the steps, Rick came back to the women and sat on the edge of the recliner next to the couch, leaning in. "Tell me one more time what happened," he instructed Carol.   
  
"You're jus' waistin' time, Rick. Why aren't you out looking for Sophia?" Beth asked for Carol, knowing exactly what she was thinking.   
  
"We are looking. Now," looking to Carol, he said, "tell me. Again."   
  
"I lost it. Couldn't take it anymore."   
  
Before Carol could continue the story, Beth squeezed Carol's hand and stood, "I'll be right back…" Beth, as well as Rick, had heard Carol rehash the story several times. She closed herself in the tiny bathroom off of the dining room. Her head spinning as she grasped the edge of the sink. Taking deep breaths, she forced herself to clear her mind. A man was dead, a scumsucking, peice of shit of a man, but still he was dead. Carol might be going to prison and Sophia, an innocent little girl, was missing.   
  
She had just splashed water on her face, when her phone began to buzz with a text notification. She had half a mind to ignore it, but took a peek instead. Her heart, which was beating overtime as it were, began to beat double. It was Daryl.   
  
"Can we talk?" The text said. Her mind b egan swim again, and her vision blurred. She wanted nothing more than to talk to Daryl. She regretted everything she had said the night she kicked him out of her house. She wanted him back in her life so badly she could almost taste it.   
  
Then it dawned on her: Yes! If anyone could find Sophia, it was Daryl. He was a known tracker. Knew these woods liken on else. She quickly took the steps to dial his number and when he answered her emotions, already raw and tender, beveled over.   
  
"Daryl?" Not giving him a chance to speak she rattled on, "I'm so sorry, so sorry. I let Shane get everything all messed up. And I don't blame you if you hate me, but I need your help."   
  
"Beth...what's wrong?"   
  
"I need you. Can you come? Now?"   
  
…   
  
Beth waited for Daryl on the porch. Carol was still speaking with Rick and the room was so overcrowded she was having a hard time breathing. The fresh air felt good on her hot face.   
  
"Ain't this a shit storm?" A voice came from the darkened side of the porch.   
  
"Why ain't you be lookin' for Sophia?" Beth asked Shane, coming very close to yelling at him.   
  
Shane held up his flashlight, "Needed batteries."   
  
"It's almost light out." She said, incensed at this man's inability to see the importance of time in a situation such as that of a missing child.   
  
"Abraham is out lookin', don't worry. We'll find her." He said speaking of the volunteer deputy. The town rarely needed more than he and Rick. On occasion, though, they did and they would call Abraham Ford in for reinforcements. He was a loud, big, burly man with a good heart.   
  
"You won't find her just standing on this porch."   
  
…   
  
She didn't need to ask him twice, Daryl heard it in her voice, something was wrong. Really wrong. "I'll be there in five," he told her.   
  
"I'm not home. I'm at the Peletier's house."   
  
What the hell Beth was doing at Carol's, he had no idea, but he knew it was not good. She sounded like a different person, panic edged her shaky voice. As he pulled down the road, just how bad the situation might be began to sink in. It seemed every police car and ambulance in the county was parked at the house. And, was that a herse?   
  
"What the hell?" Daryl parked his truck well out of the way, and walked his way up to the porch, only to find Shane and Beth in mid-discussion. He thought she 'needed' him. But, here she was with Shane…again.   
  
"Daryl." Beth said, sounding surprised. Of course, he had to show up at that very moment.   
  
"What's goin' on?" He asked cautiously, eyeing the two of them.   
  
Shane answered for Beth, "Now, this is official police business. Not your concern."   
  
"Beth is my concern."   
  
"Is that so?" Shane taunted.   
  
Daryl tried not to take the bait, and oh yes, he was baiting him and Daryl knew it. In his own defense he'd never been in this situation before of having to fight for his woman. He wasn't quite sure how to play it out. He'd love nothing more than to put this prick in his place. Now was not that time.   
  
"Oh, for Christ's sake. Would you two cut it out?" Beth yelled, done with two of them, done with the day, though it was technically just starting. The sun was finally rising from its slumber on the other side of the earth. "Shane, go get your batteries. And get back out looking for Sophia."   
  
"Sophia? Where's Sophia?" Daryl asked, alarmed.

Beth climbed down the steps, grasping Daryl by his bicep dragging him away from the house and away from Shane, who, thankfully, went into the house.  
  
"You two sure seemed to be thrown together a lot." His voice was taut with growing anger.   
  
"Daryl…"   
  
"Whatever," he interrupted. "What the hell is goin' on here?" He gestured to the mass of police surrounding the house. "I was on my way to work, dropped Shooter off to Patricia's and now I'm here because you said you needed me..."   
  
"Carol killed Ed." Beth blurted.   
  
Daryl eyed Beth. "What the fuck?" He asked, lifting his camouflage hat from his head and running his fingers through his hair. Though he couldn't say he blamed Carol or was necessarily surprised, it was still a shock to hear the words.   
  
"We don't have a lot of time for me to explain everything. Sophia's missing. Disappeared sometime during the night, probably more than two hours ago, judging by the time Carol…" Beth ran out of words. Daryl understood where she was going. "You can find her, if anybody can. It's you."   
  
"Beth, I don't know. I ain't never tracked a human before." Plenty of different animals, but a person? No way.   
  
"You have to at least try. We can't just leave it up to Shane."   
  
Daryl snorted humorlessly. "That's true. Alright, I'll go." He said, and began to make his way back to his truck for his phone and a bottle of water.   
  
"Wait," Beth said, calling his attention back to her. "I'm going with you."   
  
"The hell you are."   
  
"The hell I'm not." She said, giving it right back to him. "We don't have time for this, so be an asshole some other time A little girl's life might be in danger."   
  
"You are, by far, the most stubborn woman I have ever met."   
  
"Is that supposed to be a bad thing?" Beth wondered and followed him to his truck, then back to the house briefly to tell Carol and Rick what they were doing. Rick didn't even bother to argue, knowing they were short staffed.

Beth did something doctors are never supposed to do. She promised to return Carol's daughter whole and well. "I'm gonna' find Sophia."

To which Carol replied, "Go find my baby girl."  
  
. . .   
  
_"What the hell you talkin' 'bout, girl?" Daryl was surprised by her words, he had to be mistaken. He couldn't have heard her correctly.  
  
Beth sat up, criss-crossing her legs, stretching her back. They had met in the barn loft after her going away party that he, unsurprisingly, didn't go to. He lived up to his promise, though, and met her after. Beth was tired, sad, excited, happy and about a million other things. Her mind was going a thousand miles a minute and wouldn't settle even though she was finally with Daryl'. "Maybe I should stay." Her voice was barely above a whisper, afraid to speak the words aloud.   
  
Daryl blew off her words with a ppfffttt sound. "Why the hell would ya' wanna do a thing like that for?"   
  
"I dunno'." Staying home and driving the thirty minutes to the local community college, like Maggie did, sounded so much easier than going to NYU.   
  
"You're goin', missy," Daryl teased, leaning up on his elbow and poking her in the ribs with his finger. She jumped in spite of herself.   
  
"You don't want me to stay?"   
  
"Nope," he answered honestly.   
  
"Well, gee. Thanks." She snapped, jumping to her feet and stomping to the door cut out in the wall, releasing the clasp and flinging it open to the humid night. The air was thick that evening, making it difficult to breathe, or move, or do much of anything. You broke a sweat just sitting still. The open door did little to move the air in the stifling loft. Along with the weather, they both felt the pressure of tomorrow and it made them short tempered.    
  
"You know what I mean. You got a one way ticket outta' this hell hole. Pack your shit and get out of here." His words were said without malice. He laid back down, pulling the bill of his camo hat over his eyes.   
  
Standing with her back to him, tears slid down Beth's hot cheeks. "Why you bein' so mean?"   
  
Daryl heard the emotion in her voice and when he replaced his hat to the right position and sat up, he saw her wiping tears from her face. He stood and joined her at the door, putting his arms around her. "You know why I say that, right?"   
  
Again, she shrugged her shoulders. "You don't want me here."   
  
"No, that's not it. I want you...," so badly, in fact, his chest ached with her impending departure. "You're cut out for more 'an this little town."   
  
"How can you be so sure?" She asked, leaning against him, he tightened his grip on her body, even if it was a thousand degrees out.   
  
"Cause, I know you. You're meant for better things. You gonna' be the best doctor New York has ever had."   
  
"But you don't want me to stay for you."   
  
"For fuck's sake Beth," he spoke, knowing his anger was irrational. He wanted her to stay, but he knew, knew it more surely than anything in his life, she was meant to go.   
  
Beth pushed away from him. "I see. I guess I thought we were...more than just this." She motioned with her hand between the two of them.   
  
"Beth, you haven't even told anyone about us," he tried to rationalize.   
  
"Because you said not to." Her voice rose in aggravation. "Not because I didn't want to."   
  
"Yeah, 'cause I'm sure that would go over well. Daddy, meet my boyfriend. You remember him, right? The town drunk's son?" Daryl mimicked her voice.   
  
"You know, you're the only person that thinks of you that way. You like it and it's bullshit!"   
  
"Oh, is that right? Is that what you think?" He eyed her.  _

_  
"That's what I know. You like playin' the victim."   
  
"You think I like being a big joke? You think I liked it when my daddy would come home drunk and beat the hell out of me. My mother? My brother?"   
  
"Daryl, don't!" Knowing she said too much, went too far, she reached for his arm but he snatched it away.   
  
"Do ya' want to see my scars?" He asked through clenched teeth, eyes slitted angrily, bending his frame to be level with her.   
  
It was unfair and immature what they both said, but part of Beth wanted him to feel something about the fact that she was leaving, just like she was hurt by leaving him. The silence between them became deafening until all that could be heard was the normal nighttime sounds of a quiet country night. The air became thick with the distance that was growing in between them. Figuratively, as well as physically, as Beth took a step away from him.   
  
Daryl wasn't going to let her clear his grasp that easily. It took more than a few harsh words spoke in anger and frustration to penetrate his thick skin. He snatched her up around the waist and had her body pushed up against his before she even took her next breath. Placing his lips to hers in a toe-curling kiss. _

_When he pulled back, he grumbled, "Damn it, girl. You're asking for something from someone that ain't got nothin' to give. I can't give you the life you deserve."  
  
She hadn't meant to say those ugly words, hadn't meant to hurt him and she instantly regretted them the moment the words left her mouth. This was not how she wanted their last night to go. " _

_We could be happy together, here in King County. I don't need some fancy degree. Tell me to stay," she pleaded.  
  
"You're askin' something that I can not do." As he spoke he laid his forehead to hers, as was his way.   
  
Finally accepting defeat, Beth pushed away from Daryl turning her back to him, leaving his arms empty and chilled against the damp humid air. "Don't be that way. Please," he almost begged.   
  
When she turned back to him, her tears were dried and a breathtaking smile lit her face in the pale moonlight. "Make love to me, Daryl. And then I'll leave tomorrow morning."   
  
Temptation burned at his fingertips and he hardened so quickly it hurt.   
  
"Beth…" His words trailed off as she began to unbutton her western cut womens shirt, the pearl buttons making a popping sound when she slowly released each one.   
  
"Beth." He warned again. "I ain't never made love with anyone before…" banged, laid, fucked, you name it and he'd pretty much done it. This 'making love' Beth spoke of, was the one thing he hadn't done.   
  
"What's a matter? Ya' scared?" She jerred.   
  
"Stop it, now." It wasn't a command so much as a request. Please, don't stop, his mind conflicted.   
  
Her blouse was open, a lacey white bra pushed back against the mounds of her small breasts, the swelling outline of her nipples silhouetted against the fabric. His eyes roved over her body, his hands clenched into fists.   
  
Daryl couldn't resist her, even if he truly wanted to. Oh, he knew he should. Could think and had thought of a million different reasons why he'd best keep his distance from Beth Greene. Now, though, in that moment, he couldn't think of one good reason they shouldn't be together right then and there. He cleared the space in between them in one step and had her in his arms again.   
  
Somehow he'd managed to lay out the saddle blanket on the loft floor, before he laid her down.   
  
Somehow he'd managed to undress her, painstakingly slow. _

_Somehow he allowed her to touch the scars on his back. To lightly kiss them. And suddenly they were only that: scars. They didn't make him who he was._ _  
  
Somehow he took his time. His lips coming into contact with every inch of her smooth, flushed skin. He helped her shrug out from her unbuttoned shirt, slid those short shorts down her legs, followed by her white panties, kissing her legs as he inched his way back up her body. His hand wrapped lightly around her neck, trailing his fingers down her chest to her belly, around her hips, squeezing her ass.   
  
Somehow Daryl managed to undress himself too, not near as slowly as he undressed Beth. It was as though his clothes disintegrated in the Georgia heat and suddenly they were both naked, Daryl hovering above her settled in the niche of her legs.    
  
There wasn't much foreplay, neither needed it as they kissed frantically. Gasping for air, drowning in their passion, their legs and arms intertwined. Daryl slowly, gently, slid himself into her. Tension melted away as he found her gloriously tight and wet; ready for him. He paused momentarily, feeling like hours had passed before he removed himself and dove back in, a little deeper this time.   
  
There wasn't pain, only a glorious sensation of her body being filled by him, her body inherently stretching and molding to fit. Beth whispered his name, angling her hips to meet his next thrust, her nails digging into his shoulders. She'd never forget this moment in time, wishing she could box it up and take it with her wherever she went. Knowing that was impossible, she tucked it away in her mind, memorizing every moment, every sigh, every touch, every sensation, every kiss.   
  
Daryl fought to keep control, not wanting to cause her any discomfort if he could help it. Deliberately taking his time, stroke after stroke. Half crazed, he wondered if it was possible to die from pleasure. If it was possible, he would have no complaints. It'd be a hell of a way to go. He wished to stay there like this with Beth forever. But, like the old saying says, if you love someone you've got to let them go.   
  
He pried his lips from her hot skin, stilling temporality as he spoke, "I love you, Beth. Now tell me you're leavin' me." His words were an agony of painful emotion in stark contrast with the pleasure his body felt.   
  
Her only response was to say, "I love you, Daryl, and because I do, I'll go." _

_Those words sent him over the edge and he let go…_   



	18. Chapter 18

The woods were thick and the terrain was rough. Beth hardly felt her own exhaustion, though. She was too busy looking for any sign of Sophia. Beth feared for Sophia's safety. She must be terrified and tired, hungry, and thirsty. And did she know...did she see, her mother kill her father? Her heart ached for the little girl. She would have a rough few months ahead, years even, no doubt. Right now, first things first, they had to find her.

The minutes passed by and the sun rose higher above them. They could hear Shane and Abraham off in the distance calling for Sophia. Daryl's approach was different.

"Look for small footprints, probably barefoot. Broken twigs. Maybe a discarded doll or stuff animal. Anything that's out of the normal," Daryl instructed Beth. He was moving at a methodical but swift pace. Keeping his eyes peeled to the ground, the surrounding shrubbery and trees and even upwards to the treetops on occasion. Beth did the same, not exactly sure what she was looking for. Anything, any sight, she supposed, of Sophia.

Eventually, they came to a stream that cut across through the woods. Beth sat on a huge rock at the riverside, taking a breath.

"Here," Daryl said, dropping the bottle of water into her lap. She looked up at him, expressionless. They had yet to settle their own issues, as well as Daryl's unnecessary jealousy of Shane, but at this moment, Beth was at a loss for words. Too much had happened. So instead, she unscrewed the cap of the bottle and took a long drink of the lukewarm water. With his back to her, Daryl kneeled at the water's edge, removing his hat. Cupping his hand in the water, he splashed it over his head, pushing his hair back with his fingers.

Beth reserved herself to the fact that they were collectively resolved to the same goal as of right now. And that was finding Sophia. She she stood, and handed the water bottle back to Daryl, wordlessly making her way to the forest again. The plan was to follow the stream for a while, see if there were any signs Sophia came down that way. So far there was no signs of her. 

Daryl's voice broke the deafening silence that stood between them. Finally giving up the double-sided silent treatment they were giving each other, Daryl spoke, "Ya' know, you ain't gotta worry about Andrea coming back."

"Andrea?" Beth was momentarily confused. Then she remembered; Andrea, Shooter's mother.

His words halted her in her tracks, she turned to face him. "Why's that?"

His words were stone cold sober, matter of fact. No emotions were attached to them when he spoke again, "'Cause she's dead."

"She's dead?" Beth's mind was slow and sluggish. She was having trouble moving from the subject of Sophia being missing, to Andrea being dead. "How, when?" She questioned.  
  
Daryl looked around, listening to the breeze blowing. The whispering noise the wind makes as it swirled through the pine trees. He was also listening to anything else that he might be heard, anything out of the ordinary. "Yeah. Shooter was 'bout a month old. I got another call from the hospital. I guess they had my name on file listed as her person to contact. But anyway, this time she overdosed."   
  
Words failed her, she had no idea what she to say.   
  
"I felt bad for her, for Shooter. She was his mother. She had the mind to clean up her act while she was pregnant with 'im. Felt like she deserved something for that. So, I had her cremated, buried up at the cemetery."   
  
Beth approached him slowly, her footfalls silent on the soft earth. Momentarily she hesitated before putting her hands on his shoulders and she breathed a sigh of relief when he allowed her to do so. "You are a good man, do ya' know that? I'm sorry if I ever made you feel less than that."   
  
"You're the only one that's made me feel like a good man, like I was worth somethin." The honest words felt clumsy on his lips "Beth, I…" Daryl trailed off his eyes darting to the woods at her back.   
  
"What's that?" He asked, rounding her and walking to the nearest pine. A small tear of pink fabric fluttered in the breeze was attached to the pine needles.   
  
"Carol said Sophia was wearing a pink pajama top." Beth told him, her voice excited. Finally a clue.   
  
Looking to the ground, imprints of small feet marked in the lichen moss. "Look she came down to the river," he said, pointing to the tracks. "Then she came back up this way," pointing to the tracks that lead away from the river.

"Sophia!" He yelled for her.  
  
. . .   
  
_Unsurprisingly, Beth woke alone in the wee morning hours. Daryl's scent still on her skin. Their lovemaking still ached blissfully throughout her body, even as her heart broke. She did not blame him in the least. It had to be this way. She had to go. He'd offered her mind-numbing pleasure and left her so she could go do what she was meant to do, no matter how badly it hurt. She wanted him and he'd given himself over to her in more in ways than one._  
  
_Knowing this did nothing to stop the tears as she redressed and made her way back to the house. Quietly, she went in through the kitchen screen door that her parents kept open at night because her Mama liked the smell of the early morning air wafting through the house, through the kitchen and up the stairs avoiding all the creaky spots that she knew by heart._  
  
_Beth had almost made it to her bedroom when Maggie's voice sounded from behind her. "Just where do you think you were at?" Her voice mockingly stern. Maggie was ready to give her sister hell, then Beth turned to face her and Maggie saw the tears streaking down her face._  
  
_"Hey, what's wrong?"_  
  
_Unable to answer, Beth motioned to her room. Maggie followed, shutting the door behind them. Beth sat on her bed, needlessly wrapping her blanket around her shoulders. Even though it was already hot, she shook with heartache. The twin bed squeaked as Maggie sat cross-legged in front of Beth and said, "Spill it."_  
  
_And she did. As she always did. She needed to tell this to Maggie. Needed to get it off her chest, afraid the weight of it would crush her if she kept it inside for another second longer._  
  
_Maggie sat in front of her with quiet compassion filling her eyes, mixed with confusion. "You been seeing Daryl Dixon for, like, months?" She asked, reiterating the facts._  
  
_Sniffling, feeling a tiny bit better after telling someone, anyone, what she'd kept secret for so long. "For the summer, yeah." Shame colored her cheeks. The shame was not from seeing Daryl, it was from keeping it a secret. She knew now she should have been open and honest with everyone. She definitely should've shared this with Maggie, her only sister. Her fear that Maggie wouldn't approve was correct._  
  
_"What were you thinking, Beth?"_  
  
_"I was thinking that he's a good man."_  
  
_"Obviously not if you're sitting here crying."_  
  
_"Maggie, I need my sister right now, can't you just be her?"_  
  
_Now it was Maggie's turn to feel shame. "I'm sorry. You're right." Maggie leaned forward wrapping her arms around her. Beth fought off the sob for all of two seconds before her face fell and tears streamed down her cheeks. Sob after sob racked her body. Maggie shushed quietly, rocking her back and forth until her tears began to slow._  
  
_"I...knew it had to be this way." Beth spoke in between hiccups. "But part of me, a big part of me...wanted…"_  
  
_Maggie pulled back placing her hands on her sister's_ _cheeks, wiping the tears away with her thumbs. "You wanted what?"_  
  
_"For him to ask me to stay."_

_"I know you did. But you have these plans. All these great plans. You have to go," Maggie reiterated Daryl's words. "What are you gonna' do? Stay here. Get married and have a bunch of babies? I know you're hurting. And I'm so sorry you are. But the best thing you can do is get on with your life. You'll regret not going."_

_"But what if I regret going?"_  
  
. . .   
  
_Maggie had no answer for Beth's question. She held her until she cried herself to sleep. Then Maggie rose, the sun just beginning to shine over the land. Determined, she jumped into her little Ford Focus and made her way towards the Dixon residence. She had never met Will or Merle Dixon and didn't care to, but she had to do what needed to be done and if they were in the way, then so be it._  
  
_When she pulled down the drive of where she thought they lived, the shack came into view. Momentary pity spiked her heart. It must of been hell growing up here with Will Dixon as a father. Shrugging it off, she stomped up to the sorry excuse of a door and pounded it with her fist. Waiting only a few seconds before she pounded again. "Open up Daryl. I know you're in there." She looked over her shoulder, his truck sat in the drive next to where she parked her car._  
 _Inside, she heard what sounded like footsteps then a small crash and someone swearing. Finally the door flew open._  
  
_Yanking the door open, he barked, "Damn, woman, what's your damage?"_

_He had finally dozed off into a fitful sleep when someone banging on the door startled him awake. His heart sank to see that it was Maggie. He'd rather it be the police come to drag him off to jail for any damn reason, instead of Beth's sister of all people._  
  
_"You." Maggie shoved a pointed index finger at Daryl's bare chest forcing him backward. "You think you can just break my sisters heart like that?"_  
  
_"What the hell…"_  
  
_"Don't 'what the hell' me. Beth, of all people, didn't deserve that."_  
  
_Leaving the door open, Daryl turned his back on Maggie and slunk down onto the scarred and bandaged with duct tape leather recliner, hanging his head he ran his fingers through his hair. "You're right. She didn't"_  
  
_On her drive over, Maggie expected a lot of things to happen as_ _she envisioned having it out with Daryl, but the emotion she heard in his voice, that she could almost feel as if it were a tangible substance, was not expected. She was only briefly paused._

_"Then why the hell did you do it?"_  
  
_"What did you expect me to do? Ask her to stay? To marry me? Would that make you any happier."_  
  
_"Hell no."_  
  
_He stood, gestured outwardly with his hands, "Then, what do you want from me?" He had meant to say it in anger. To yell at her. The words, however, came out as weak as he felt._  
  
_"You shoulda' never gotten involved with her in the first place. She's just a kid. Hardly a good judge of character." She looked at him in utter disgust._  
  
_Again, he couldn't refute what she said. "You're right. For what it's worth, I'll stay far from her from now on. But, if you think I regret being with her for one second, that's where you're wrong. She's the best thing that's ever happened to me. Probably the best thing that will ever happen to me." He said before conceding, "I do regret hurting her, though. And for that, you bet your ass I'm sorry."_  
  
_Subdued, Maggie was unsure what to say. Part of her wanted to comfort him. She hadn't expected him to actually...well, care. And, the fact he looked absolutely crushed didn't help anything. She wanted to hate him, but couldn't._  
  
_"I came here to hate you…" She waited for him to look at her._  
  
_He looked into her piercing green eyes, so full of anger, "And?"_  
  
_"Now, I just pity you."_   
  
. . .   
  
Beth touched Daryl's arm, stopping him short of yelling Sophia's name a second time. "No, let me. She might be scared of your voice, a man's voice," Beth explained. Surely, Ed's voice alone, whether it was risen in anger or lowered to a whisper, sent fear through Sophia's little body. If you tie in the fact that she was scared, tired and alone, she probably ran from the men calling her name. That probably explains why Shane and Abraham hadn't found her before she and Daryl had began looking.   
  
"Sophia?" Beth spoke loudly, with authority, but at the same time making an extra effort not to yell. Just allowing her voice to float on the breezing, praying it was loud enough. "Honey, it's me. Dr. Greene. Your Mama's really worried 'bout you. She misses you, and she loves you so much. She's not mad at you, whatever caused you to leave this morning, she said ya'll could work through it. Together. Now, come on out, it's time to get ya' back home."   
  
Moments passed and the world stood still as though they were in a snow globe and someone shook it up slowly, causing the glitter to dance slowly back down. Beth held her breath, Daryl's eyes darted from one sound to the next. Beth knew Sophia had to be close by, could feel the girl's presence. She lifted her chin to call her name once more, stopping short when there was a rustle to the right of them and Sophia appeared from behind a bush.   
  
Relife so strong, surged through Daryl's body that he had to fight off the urge to charge Sophia and wrap her up in her arms. What Beth had said about her being scared of men made sense, so he stepped back and let Beth do the talking.   
  
"Oh, Sophia," emotion shook Beth's voice. "Are you okay?"   
  
Sophia hung her head to her dirty bare feet. Tears streaked her equally dirty face. "It's alright. No one's mad at you if that's what you're worried about." Beth could only hope that was the top of the girl's worries.   
  
Peering out through her bangs, she asked in a tiny voice, "Is my Mama okay?"   
  
"Yes. She's fine. She's worried about you, though." The quicker they got her back home, the better. "We need to get you back to her."   
  
"You know the way?" She questioned, forcing her eyes to Beth, giving Daryl a quick, apprehensive once-over.   
  
"I do." Daryl answered quietly.   
  
"I got lost." With her face finally upright, Beth looked her over with her doctor's keen eye. Sophia's face was tear soaked and reddened. Her pajama sleeve was torn, her matching pajama shorts allowed Beth a view of her skinned up knees. She was probably a little dehydrated and, judging by her dark circles under her eyes, was obviously exhausted. Overall, though, she looked to be just fine. Physically, anyhow.   
  
"Well now, it's easy to get lost out here. But Daryl here," Beth motioned to Daryl standing off and to the side of them, "he's an expert at these woods. And he can find our way home with no problem."   
  
Sophia still looked unsure of Daryl, but took a step to Beth. And then another. Soon Beth had her arm around Sophia's shoulders and they were following Daryl's lead through the forest. She refused the water bottle Daryl offered her. They would soon be back to the house, so neither Beth or Daryl, pushed the issue. Walking slow at first, then recognizing the woods that surrounded the back of her home, Sophia picked up her pace. When the trees gave way to yard, they rounded the house to the front. There, stood Carol on the porch with Rick and Shane and Abraham. Carol's eyes gazed past them and then came back to them. Her face, a cloud of fear and anxiety, lifted and a smile spread her lips. "Sophia!" She yelled and jumped off the porch, bypassing the four steps totally, her feet landing soundless on the ground. She took Sophia into her arms and as Carol's knees gave out, they both collapsed to the ground.   
  
Beth didn't even try to hold back her own tears as Carol looked up to Beth and Daryl and mouthed the words, "Thank you."   
  
Not knowing what to do with what he was feeling, Daryl made a break over to where Rick now stood at his truck. Beth nodded and smiled to Carol and slipped quietly off to her Jeep, feeling a madrid of emotions, but none were as prominent as thankful. Thankful they had found that girl. Sophia would have a lot of healing ahead of her, both Sophia and Carol would, Beth had a feeling they would be fine. Whatever the outcome, their life would be far better without Ed.   
  



	19. Chapter 19

"Move over."   
  
Beth startled at Daryl's voice. She started her Jeep, only to sit in the driver's seat running it idle. So exhausted she was unable to think or even move.   
  
"Huh?"   
  
"Move over," he repeated. "Y'all are dead on your feet. You shouldn't be drivin'."   
  
"I'm fine," she insisted.   
  
"The hell you are," he insisted in return.   
  
All the fight Beth had had in her body left hours ago, she simply did not have it in her to argue with Daryl. Besides, she wanted to be with him, she couldn't lie even to herself. She stiffly climbed over the middle console, her leg bypassing the gear shifter, and plopped into the passenger seat with an audible sigh. Daryl slid behind the steering wheel.   
  
They drove in silence to her cabin and when Daryl rounded the Jeep's hood and opened the door for her, she allowed him to pull her from her seat and guide her to the house.   
  
She had been thankful for those broad shoulders in the past. Mostly as she was running her hands or lips over them. Or when Shooter snuggled his little face into them. Now, though, she was thankful for their strength. Solid strength.   
  
Once inside he stood awkwardly in the kitchen, chewing on his thumbnail. "I should go to work." Though the day was almost over, he could get a couple of hours of work in before it was time to get Shooter from the sitters.   
  
But leaving? It was the last thing she wanted him to do. Maybe if she was feeling more alert, less day of the dead tired, she would continue with the front of not wanting him. Not needing him. Now was not that time. She was too exhausted for such pretences. Her throat felt raw. As she whispered, her throat felt rough again, like it did after Ed strangled her. "Don't go."   
  
That was all he needed. Those two tiny, barely audible words. At that moment wild horses couldn't drag him away from her. He went to her, scooping her up in his arms and carried her to the bathroom. Setting her down on her feet, he began undressing her.   
  
Wishing to go slowly, but the fervent heat that burned under his skin wouldn't allow it. She - her mind, the way she looked, the taste of her skin, even the way she enunciates her words - brought out this fanatical need deep within him. With Beth, he was always teetering on the edge of ceaseless physical delirium.   
  
And he didn't mind. Not one damn bit.   
  
This was what Beth wanted. No. This is what she _needed_. Daryl's hands on her skin. Her exhaustion exasperating every brush of his fingers against her skin, every touch from his lips sending wave after wave of pleasure through her body. He was making her ache with want.   
  
She felt suddenly alive. Awake with need. Beth pulled at the hem of his shirt, dragging it over his head, knocking his hat off his head. Reaching for his belt buckle she hastily undid the clasp as well as the top button. Not bothering to unzip him, she delved deep into his jeans. She found him hard and pulsating. A surge of new heat shot through her body. This was for her. All for her.  
  
She grasped his cock and began jerking, none too gently and Daryl thought maybe he would lose it right then and there. "Fuck. You're gonna' make me come, and I ain't even inside ya' yet."  
  
A smirk played at her lips as she continued the motion. After a moment though, regretfully, or maybe thankfully, she removed her hand to pull down his jeans and boxers. His lips began to make their way down her body as she reached into the shower, turning the knob and let the water become steamy with heat.  
  
His hands needed to be everywhere all at once. After making contact with one area of her skin, he moved to the next. Burying his fingers into her hair, Daryl pulled out the band that held what was left of her ponytail, sending her hair spiraling down her bare back. A tangled mess of summer sun.  
  
Losing the rest of their clothes, Daryl crushed his mouth to hers in a searing, greedy kiss and when he pulled back, his eyes roved over her face and down her body. Beth gulped for air before his mouth returned to hers.  
  
Pulling her into the shower, gloriously hot water fell over Beth's head, down her shoulders, making her body slick to Daryl's hands, caressing every inch they could reach before taking possession of her breasts. Palming her, pinching her nipples, making her groan out his name. He nipped, sucked, tasted every inch of her body. His tongue a relentless machine.  
  
Daryl felt he could no longer take it. He needed to be one with her. To join their body's together in the closest way possible. His hands slid down around her, cupping her ass and lifting until she was standing up on her toes. Leaning into the wall she flung her leg around Daryl's hip, pulled him closer. The water poring over his shoulders, down his back formed a small pond in between the cleft of his ass and the calf of her leg.  
  
"Look at me," he demanded and she did without hesitation. "I want you to know who's fucking you." He growled.  
  
"You're the only one I want inside of me."  
  
Beth thought it would be a fit of passion and heat. Fast and quick. And she would gladly take it that way. But, to her surprise, he buried himself deeply inside her slowly. Purposefully.  
  
She jutted her hips forward, further pushing him inside. The sensation momentarily quelled the wanton ache between her legs before a phenomenal hunger began to grow again. Finally they simultaneously began to pick up speed. Her hips thrusting downward to meet his upward plunge, matching his ruthless primal instincts.  
  
Grasping her hips, Daryl held on as though his life depended on it. He watched Beth's face intently; her cheeks pink with pleasure, her lips red from his kisses, scratchy abrasions on her neck from his ever present stubble. It took all he had to wait. Wait her pleasure out before he could reach his own.  
  
Beth's vision began to narrow and, even though she wanted to keep her eyes open to witness Daryl's expression of exposed and complete vulnerability, they involuntarily closed. Toes beginning to curl, her breath began to hitch and she came in an explosive surge of light and stars, tightening around Daryl, he moaned with almost pain. Sweet pain. Her legs weakened and Daryl wrapped his arms around her, completely, holding her upright.  
  
Exhausted, wet ant and slick Daryl found Beth utterly arousing. When her eyes rolled back and her eyelids fluttered closed, a fist of want punched him in the chest and his movements began to quicken. He tightened his grip on her waist and pounded himself into her. "I want you, every inch of you."  
  
At Daryl's gruff words, Beth resurfaced from the delirious realm of pleasure. Gripping his shoulders, hanging on, she breathed , "You have me. Every part of me. I'm all yours."  
  
. . .  
  
Daryl watched Beth as she soundlessly slept. Her hair still damp from their shower, flowered across her pillow. He didn't want to wake her, but he had to stop by the shop and apologize to Shawn, hopefully he wouldn't fire him and then get Shooter. Somehow retrieve his truck from where he left it at Carol's. Then, he would come back to be with Beth.  
  
And never leave her ever figgin' again.  
  
So, silently, he slid out of bed and left. And he felt good about it, only because he knew he would come back to her and they would begin their lives together.  
  
Driving Beth's Jeep, he marveled at how he was already so used to driving down the road her little cabin was located. It had already become a habit. This was his drive to and from town now, even if Beth didn't know it yet. A sideways grin lifted the corner of his mouth, he couldn't wait to fill her in on his plans when he got back. Yep, this was home now. He wasn't going anywhere.  
  
As he drove his mind drifted. What would their future look like? He and Beth's. And Shooters. He never thought much on the future before. He just drifted aimlessly through life, following Merle. Floating along. Shooter became the anchor that kept him tied to one place, Beth became the water keeping him afloat.  
  
So, yeah, the future. His future. Their future. He and Shooter would move in, but then what? He would continue to work for Shawn. Beth would continue to work as the town's doctor. They would get married.  
  
Married?  
  
 _Where the fuck had that come from?_  
  
It's strange how something he never knew he wanted, _never_ , could suddenly become the one thing he wanted most. They would be married, and it wouldn't be easy. Of course not. Nothing was. Being with Beth itself was easy. When life creeped itself in, which inevitably it always did, that's when it becomes difficult. They would work through it together, though. Day in and day out. She would work, he would work. They would come home to one another. Live together, create a life. Each night they would be in each other's arms.  
  
Yes, Daryl could see it now. Feel it in his bones. Could see it as fresh as yesterday's memory. He could see himself coming out of the woods that surrounded the cabin, early morning light sparkled through the high tree tops, yellowing the world around them. Coming back from a morning hunt, because, of course, he would still hunt. Rounding the house to find Beth kneeling over the mound of dirt they had tilled into a garden. Plucking plump fresh tomatoes from the vine, placing them gently in a plastic bowl. Shooter, toddling about nearby, playing with an old Tonka Truck that had been Shawn's when he was little. Dirty from head to toe and as happy as a clam. As he approached Beth, the sweet humming of her voice carried on the breeze. Something melodic and slightly sad she sang unconsciously, without thinking.  
  
Treading lightly, his bow slung across his back. He had been unsuccessful in his hunt that morning, but now his eyes were on another form of prey. His wife. He took her in, a spectacle of golden angelic light. It was as though the light came from within her, rather than surrounding her. Her golden blonde hair tied back into a long braid. She had let her hair grow out, and it now trailed down near her waist. She wore a dress, a billowy, wavy, knee length thing, the color of the grass in June after a rainy spring. Her shapely ass had grown more round in the past few months, which he had no objection to. He loved her body, no matter. Her ankles were crossed and her hands were dusty from the dirt. She stood, then, placing those dusty hands at the small of her back, arching slightly, looking out over her garden. The fruit and vegetables still flourishing in early October.  
  
She still did not hear his approach. He'd always been stealthy. Quiet on his feet. She let out a shrill of surprise when he captured her from behind in his arms. A playful laugh, knowing full well who it was behind her. It was Daryl. Always was and always would be. His hands clasped protectively over her tiny bump of a belly, thrilled in the fact that she was finally starting to show with their baby.   
  
Daryl snapped back to reality with a crashing halt as the town's only stop light turned suddenly from green to red. He hadn't remembered making it town, driving blind the whole way lost in thought.   
  
Marriage? Babies? What the fuck?

. . .   
  
"Heard you had a hella' day," Shawn spoke from where he stood at a file cabinet, fiddling around with some paperwork that inevitably seemed to be piled everywhere in his office.   
  
"Yeah, you could say that." Daryl replied, practically falling into the metal fold-out chair behind Shawn's desk. The day's events had finally caught up with him and exhaustion was starting to edge away the adrenalin.   
  
"Was hopin' you wouldn't fire my ass."   


Shawn slammed the drawer closed with a thud and turned to Daryl. "Na'. Not since you found that girl 'n all. You get a free pass today." Shawn's tone was light. "How's my sister."  
  
"Sleeping now."  
  
Shawn nodded, sitting on the corner of his desk. "You two seem to be gettin' serious. Shane said you're livin' there now."  
  
Daryl bristled at the mention of Shane. "Shane don't know his ass from a hole in the ground, but yeah, if I have my way, me and Shooter will be staying at Beth's."  
  
Shawn nodded his approval. "You really turned yourself around, I gotta' say." Shawn went back to the cabinet. Taking a ring of keys out from his pocket, he began to unlock the fire safe box that sat on top of the cabinet. He rifled around a moment, Daryl wasn't paying much attention, lost in his own thoughts.  
  
"Yeah, I guess. It's easy to do when you have someone relying on you. Shooter started it but when I started seein' Beth, I knew I needed to do better. Be better."  
  
"Good. You deserve to be happy. And frankly, I'm just glad your happy ass isn't sitting in a jail cell right now." Shawn jibbed. They both laughed. But what he said? It was true. And they both knew it. Anyone that's known him as long as Shawn has would be shocked to know that Daryl Dixon isn't in jail by now.  
  
Shawn finally turned back around to Daryl. "Looks like you might be needing this."

Daryl turned in enough time to catch a black box midair.   
  
"What's this?" Daryl flipped open the lid. A ring set sat nestled inside the velvet fabric. Shiny, but not new. He didn't know anything about rings. These seemed old. Not in a junky way but in an antique, well-loved way.   
  
"I don't think it's really appropriate for you to ask me to marry you since I'm with your sister 'n all." Daryl tried to joke off his growing uneasiness.   
  
Shawn chuckled. "Shut up. It belonged to our grandmother. Our granddaddy sold off his only tractor to buy her that ring. Word has it, she was plenty pissed off at him about it too. Selling off his only tractor, how would they make a living, and all that."   
  
"Apparently she said yes, eventually."   
  
Shawn leaned against the file cabinet, smiling fondly at the memory of his grandparents. "Yeah, apparently she did."   
  
"Why do you got it? The ring, I mean."   
  
"Only son I guess my folks had hoped that someday I would get married. Since that's not even close to being on the horizon of things yet to happen to me, you should have it. Give it to Beth."   
  
Flustered wouldn't even begin to express how Daryl felt. "Uhh, I don't, I'm not…" he stammered, trying to piece together the right words. "Fuck, man. I don't even know if she feels that way about me."   
  
"She does." Shawn reassured. "I can see it in her. Saw it in her way back when we was kids. Then that look disappeared for awhile. Now it's back."   
  
Daryl stared down at the muted rose gold. His thoughts went back to his day dream on the way to town. He thought he could always tuck those thoughts way deep down inside. Pretend like they didn't exist. Now, his biggest wish, the biggest dream he ever dared to dream, as well as his biggest fear, stared him down in the shape of a wedding ring. How could an inanimate object cause such an array of feelings.   
  
A minute before awkwardness set in and after Daryl had gone stone still and stock quiet, Shawn cleared his throat. "If you're not there yet...maybe I read you wrong. I'm sorry, man." Shawn always considered himself to be a good judge of what people were feeling, a side effect of growing up with a mother and two sisters, but maybe he'd missed the mark on this one.   
  
Daryl stood, the ring box still in hand. "No, you read it right. Thanks." And he closed the box shut with a loud snap and shoved it down deep in the pocket of his blue jeans.   
  
Relief washed over Shawn. "Take good care of it, and her."   
  
"Roger that."

. . .   
  
Beth woke suddenly from a dream. Her heart racing, her brow slightly damp with perspiration. The dream was important, that much she knew. She idly chased the dream as it disappeared further and further away, fading into her subconsciousness. In the dream, she was standing in the yard looking out over a garden, she remembered feeling pride over the success of the garden. Daryl came up behind her, startling her, but not really. She could almost feel the weight and heat from his hands. The rest of the dream escaped her mind's grasp before completely fading.  
  
Laying on her back, staring up at the darkening ceiling, her fingertips grazed over her hips, meeting in the middle of her flat stomach where butterflies danced. 


	20. Chapter 20

 

Thanks so much for reading/rereading. This is it for this one. Hope you liked it. ;)

 

* * *

 

_Maggie was right. As much as it pissed Daryl off to admit it, she was right. He should've resisted Beth. He had no business, being a grown man, ever laying a finger on her, even if she was of legal age. And now they were both broken hearted. At least Beth had an out. She would become something, and he would stay here and live the life he was meant to live. Whatever the hell that was._  
  
_Standing in the shadows of the woods that out skirted the farmhouse, his camouflage hat pulled down low over his face, he watched the Greene family farm. Watching. Waiting. He just needed one more glimpse of her, then he would be good. Good with her leaving and he'd never see her again. At least that's the lie he told himself. He'd already made up his mind to watch from afar, if for no other reason than to be sure she was well. Guilt, stronger than he'd ever felt before, ate at his stomach, for leaving her in the loft early that morning. He thought it would be best. Why drag things out? Leaving her, his sleeping angel, was the hardest thing he'd ever had to do._  
  
_As the moments ticked by, he felt ever more like an interloper in the Greene's little world. Just as he started to rethink being there at all, that's when the door to the house opened and exited Annette, followed by Shawn and Maggie and finally Hershel and Beth, his arm place protect my around her waist._  
  
_Beth looked like she'd matured overnight, if that were possible. Grown. Head held high. If she still wanted to stay she hid it well. She wore a faded black hat with an autoparts store logo, he was guessing had been Shawn's at one point. Her hair was tied in a messy bun at the nape of her neck, she wore a well worn t-shirt and faded Levi's and those cowboy boots. She looked strong. Positive in her direction. She carried a suitcase to the car, shoving it in the overly full hatchback and turned to her parents. Even from this distance he could see Annette's tears and Hershel's look of stoic bravery. Maggie looked pissed off, as usual, and Shawn looked on proudly. He felt very much like the ever present intruder, standing on the outside looking in._  
  
_They were hugging and saying their goodbyes and finally Beth went to the driver's side of the car. Before she got in she looked in Daryl's direction, peering into the woods. But, that was impossible. She had no way of knowing he was there. None. Right?  His arms covered in goosebumps, the hair stood on the back of his neck. After a second that stretched on for what felt like hours, she got behind the wheel, started the engine. She drove like she normally did, like a bat out of hell, kicking up a trail of dust as she sped down the road. Hell bent on getting as far away as possible from Daryl and onto her new life._  
  
_Daryl watched, unblinking until his eyes blurred and she was out of sight._   
  
. . .   
  
Feeling rejuvenated after her nap, Beth jumped in the shower because, well, not much got washed when she and Daryl had been in the shower earlier. Her hair was a hot mess of tangledness having gone to sleep with it wet, so she lathered up with extra conditioner.   
  
It was unavoidable, thinking back on their somewhat whirlwind of a romance. That is, if you could call something fifteen years in the making a whirlwind. It sure felt like it to Beth, her head almost spun with the speed of which Daryl went from being someone she once knew to someone whom she was sure she could not live without. Yes, she could actually physically live without him. Live, work, meet someone else. Maybe even marry and have children. But, her life would be a minuscule version of what it was meant to be with Daryl.   
  
Her heart felt heavy. Not in a bad way. In a good way, as she came to the realization, though she had known all along, just how fully she wanted him in her life. No matter what his past was, no matter what he'd done. No matter who his father or brother was. No matter if he grew up in a mansion or a moonshine shack. None of that mattered. He moved her chemically, more than anyone she had ever met. All other men seemed to pale in comparison.   
  
After her shower, she dressed in leggings and an old flannel of Daryl's she had become accustomed to wearing in the evening. Beth went to the kitchen deciding on what to make for dinner. She was unsure where Daryl went. When she woke up, she was alone. He would be back, though, this she knew. Smiling, she went about fixing baked chicken with mashed potatoes.   
  
The crunch of wheels on gravel caught Beth's attention just as she slid the chicken into the oven. Hoping it was Daryl, she slipped on a pair of old boots and stepped out into the porch. The night was cold, crisp, with frost floating down from the ink black sky. Her cheeks were flushed from the heat of the kitchen, but paled when she saw it was Rick Grimes who had pulled down her driveway.   
  
She waited for him to park the Bronco and make his way to the porch where she stood, shivering slightly. "Hey Beth." Rick said, climbing the porch steps. "Ya' got a minute?"   
  
"Uh huh, sure," she nodded. He followed her into the kitchen, the scent of the baking chicken already filled the tiny room. She sat at the table and motioned with a hand that he should join her. Mostly their relationship had been that of business. The Sheriff and the town doctor. He was a good, fair man as far as Beth knew. Having him in her kitchen, though, carried an odd feeling.   
  
"Smells good in here," he stated and sank down into the chair. The exhaustion of a long day showed around his eyes and the five o'clock shadow on his chin.   
  
"Thanks, you're more than welcome to join us for dinner. Daryl should be back anytime now."   
  
"Aw, na'. Thanks though. I'm sure Michonne's waiting on me to eat dinner at home."   
  
"How is Michonne? I haven't seen her lately. I guess that's a good thing though since the only time I do see her is when she brings the kids into the clinic when they are sick." And now you're babbling, she warned herself.   
  
"She's good. The kids are good. But, I just wanted to come by, tell ya'll I really appreciate what you and Daryl did today. It was definitely not police protocol, having civilians looking for a missing child, but we are short staffed as it is. Either way, it worked out for the better."   
  
Beth shrugged, "I'm just glad Sophia's safe. I'm glad I was able to go looking for her too, Sophia was a little reluctant of Daryl."   
  
Rick chuckled quietly, "I think the average person is a little reluctant of Daryl. He's a tough one, for sure."   
  
"He's had a rough life." Beth had an inexplicable urge to defend Daryl, even though Rick hadn't said anything derogatory or untrue about him.   
  
"He sure did. Both him and his brother. Do ya' know Merle well?"   
  
"No. I haven't seen Merle in ages, and even then it was few and far between."   
  
"Yeah…" If Rick had anything to add to that, he let it go.   
  
The question that had been nagging at the periphery of Beth's mind all day, could no longer be ignored. "Did she, did Sophia see Carol…." Beth let the words drift off. Too horrible, too heavy it was the to speak out loud. She couldn't imagine it. Seeing your mother murder your abusive father. The psychological effect it would have on Sophia - just having the knowledge of the fact was devastating enough, it would be further complicated if she were an actual witness to it.   
  
Rick shook his head, understanding where she was headed. "No. She heard them fighting and she got scared, took off before things got real bad."   
  
She let out a sigh, thankful for small miracles. "Good, she's seen enough terrible things in her short life, she didn't need to see that too."   
  
"No argument there." The silence spanned between them before Rick spoke again. "I'm not going to charge Carol."   
  
Relife washed through Beth so strong her legs went weak. Thankful she was sitting down, her voice quiet, she said, "You're not? How can that be?"   
  
"Ultimately, it's up to me. I know what an asshole Ed was, I know how he beat her. So, unless the county prosecutor has other plans, which I doubt he will, Carol is free to live the rest of her life a free woman. Without Ed."   
  
Tears stung Beth's eyes, "I'm not sure I've ever heard such great news. In all my life." A laugh bubbled to the surface and she appreciatively placed her hand over Rick's, where it lay on the table. He could've just gone by what the law said and arrested Carol that day. But he did not, he used common sense and his knowledge of the situation to make the correct decision. Hopefully, with a little luck, Carol and Sophia's life will be better for it. "You are truly a good man."   
  
Rick only nodded humbly. "Thank ya', Beth."   
  
They both jumped at the sound of the kitchen door opening as Daryl entered with Shooter on his hip. Daryl wondered if he would ever be completely at ease around the law. He was brought up to not only resist all those in authority, but to openly buck when one was near. Rick Grimes seemed like a good guy, though. And Beth seemed to trust him, which helped to put Daryl at ease.   
  
Placing a quick hand on Beth's, Rick patted it twice before standing to greet Daryl. "I just wanted to stop by, tell you and Beth thanks for looking for Sophia. And finding her."   
  
By then, Beth was taking Shooter from Daryl. She hadn't seen him in a few days and he snuggled sweetly into the space between her shoulder and neck and she began swaying him back and forth. So natural - they hadn't missed a beat in their time apart. Daryl tried to focus on Rick and what he was saying, but he was being pulled back to Beth and Shooter. His heart expanded in the cavity of his chest and he had to turn away for reasons he wasn't sure of. For reasons he wasn't able to articulate.   
  
"I'm just glad we found her." Daryl said, repeating Beth's words.   
  
. . .   
  
The radio that sat on the kitchen countertop, as far as Daryl could tell, was older than Moses himself, scratched out an old country tune as they ate together once again as a little family. Just the three of them. They were apart only days, not even a full week, but it felt like a lifetime. Such stupid wasted time. Never again, Daryl promised, watching Beth feed Shooter mashed potatoes as he sat on Daryl's knee. Now if he could only vocalize what he was feeling to Beth. Tell her exactly what was running through his mind at mock speed.   
  
Sensing Daryl's serious mood, Beth decided they had had enough seriousness to last awhile, enough to last a lifetime, really. Wiping her hands on a paper napkin, she stood and took Shooter from Daryl and began swinging him around in a slowish kind of dance.

"I love this song, Daddy used to sing it when we were little. She hummed along with the melody of the tune, and then began singing when the chorus kicked in.  
  
_Way back in my memory there's a scene that I recall_  
 _Of a little run-down cabin in the woods_  
 _Where my dad never promised that our blue moon would turn gold_  
 _But he laid awake nights wishin' that it would._   
  
Familiarity rang in the back of his mind, like an itch he couldn't quite scratch. Beth swayed with Shooter and to his surprise, took Daryl's hand and pulled him up to join them.   
  
"What are you doin'?" He gruffed.   
  
"Singin' with my family." She simply stated, and because it seemed wrong not to, Daryl wrapped his arms around his woman and his child. And as Beth sang along with the next verse, it dawned on Daryl that he knew this song too. From a lifetime ago, from his own Mama. She didn't sing right out loud, like the Greene's apparently liked to do, but she would hum to it on those rare days when the sun would shine in through the house windows so brightly it would almost blind you to the dump they lived in.   
  
_But momma kept the Bible read and daddy kept our family fed,_  
 _And somewhere in between I must have grown_  
 _Cause someday I was dreamin' that a song that I was singin'_  
 _Takes me down the road to where I want to go._  
 _Now I know, it's a long hard road._   
  
Here he was, dancing, if you could call it that. Swaying slowly in small circles in the tiny kitchen. What would his daddy or Merle have to say about this? He put that thought to the back of his mind, telling himself to be here now. His daddy and Merle didn't matter. He was no longer them. He was free of the burden of his past.   
  
"Beth, I had no idea I wanted this. Any of this. I guess fate decided it all for me." Daryl stammered, wondering if he was making any sense at all. "Damn it," he swore under his breath. Hanging his head, cursing his inability to say what he wanted … what he needed to say.   
  
Beth stopped the swaying, looking up at Daryl's ruggedly handsome face. Wondering where he was heading with all this. So far, she liked what she heard. She raised her hand to his face, cupping his cheek, "Go on, you're doin' fine."   
  
"It's you. Beth. It's always been you. Sure, I tried to ignore it for a long time, but I was just foolin' myself. I never cared much about anythin' after you left. It was like I was sleepwalkin' that whole time. And when you came back, I woke up. I'm a better person because of you. You accept me for who I am. You take care of Shooter like he's your own. I love you, Beth. I've loved you since I was a kid. I don't remember a time when I didn't. " I never wanna' let you go." He paused and a flush of embarrassment colored his cheeks. "What the hell, I know that sounds so corny…" Daryl started to back away, but Beth pulled him back in.  
  
"Daryl, I'm not goin' anywhere. I'm so sorry. I just got spooked. I was scared to love you. I was scared to love Shooter. I was worried that if his mother came back and took you and him away. I didn't know how to deal with that. I needed some time to figure it all out. But, I want to be with you. I love you."  
  
Returning his arms around her and Shooter, he relaxed. Marginally. "Really?"  
  
"Yep," she answered, giving him a thousand watt smile.  
  
"Well then, I was thinking…"  
  
Daryl stopped abruptly when there was a sharp knock at the door, "What the fuck, doesn't anyone use a phone anymore?" He asked, exasperated.  
  
Beth laughed, pulling herself away from Daryl and pulled open the door, her laugh abruptly dying on her lips. Of all people that could be at the door, why did it have to be Shane?

"What are you doin' here?" She asked him without preamble.  
  
Shane looked sheepishly at his feet, then back up to Beth. Then to Daryl. "Can I come in? Just for a second. I brought your truck back," he said. The last Daryl knew, his truck was still where he left it at Carol's earlier in the day. Daryl looked at Shane skeptically. Sure enough, though, he held a set of keys in his hand. "Abraham followed me over in my truck, so he's outside waitin' for me."   
  
There was something different about Shane, something Beth couldn't quite pinpoint. Giving him the benefit of the doubt, she moved to the side, allowing him entrance. Daryl stood tall and still, waiting for Shane to speak.   
  
"I just wanted to apologize. What you did today, finding Sophia. When I'm wrong, I say I'm wrong. An' I must've been wrong 'bout you. I'm sorry for ever tryin' to interfere with you and Beth. It won't happen again."   
  
If Shane told Daryl that he was actually a woman, he wouldn't have been more shocked than he was at that moment. Even more so when Shane extended his hand to Daryl.   
  
Finding his voice, Daryl shook his hand in return and said, "I appreciate that."   
  
Shane nodded, handing Daryl his keys and turned back to the door, nodding to a shocked Beth before he exited the house. Leaving them both speechless.   
  
  
"Well, that was unexpected." Beth laughed and went back to Daryl. Daryl took Shooter from her hip and went into the living room, placing him in his playpen with a few toys to keep him occupied.   
  
Beth walked up behind Daryl. They stood side by side, looking down at Shooter, who in return looked back up them. A drooly smile spread his face.   
  
"Sometimes I love him so much, the air catches in my chest," Daryl admitted.   
  
Since tonight seemed to be a night of admissions, Beth said, "I feel the same. About Shooter, and you."   
  
Daryl pulled Beth close. How he had lived these last twelve years without her was a mystery to him, but he intended to never live without her again. "Beth, I was thinkin'. I don't think we should move in together."   
  
Utterly confused, Beth pulled her head back from where it rested on his chest, "What?"   
  
Daryl chuckled at her look of pouty confusion on her face and he couldn't help but tease her. "Na'."   
  
Beth tried to pull from his embrace. He held tighter, wouldn't let her go. "But why?"   
  
"Because. I think we should get married first."   
  
This time, Beth did manage to pull away from him. "What. Are. You. Talking. About?" She asked slowly, enunciating each word.   
  
Daryl, took Beth by the hand, leading her to the couch, pulling her down next to him. "I love you, Beth." Those words flowed more easily each time he said them. And he wanted to say them. Scream them from the mountain top. "I don't wanna waste anymore time." He reached deep into his pocket.   
  
Beth's eye widened in shock when he produced the box, handing it to her. "But...what...uhhh…" Beth was at a total loss of words.   
  
"Open it."   
  
She did as he instructed. "Oh, Daryl. It's beautiful..." Then taking a closer look, she asked. "Is this my grandmother's ring?" She hadn't seen it in years. Something familiar about it tugged at her memory.   
  
"Yep." Daryl found himself enjoying this. Actually enjoying her reaction to his proposal, enjoying her reaction to using her grandmother's ring. He found himself enjoying the suspense, as well. He was almost sure what her answer would be. Almost.   
  
Her throat began to tighten, tears burned at the back of her eyes. "How?"   
  
"Shawn. He thought maybe I wanted to give it to you." Daryl took the box from Beth and took ring out of it. Picking up her left hand, he slid it onto her fourth finger. It fit perfectly. "He was right."   
  
Daryl cupped her neck, pulling her to him, putting his brow to hers. His laugh a quiet rumble. "So, do you wanna'?"   
  
Beth found her head nodding before her mouth could find the words to speak. "Yes. Yes I do."   
  
And it all fell into place. All the trial and tribulation. All the heartache and pain. It was all worth it, if it meant he they could be together now. 

 

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NOTES:

The song Beth sings is Long Hard Road, by The Nitty Gritty Dirt Band

And what Daryl says to Beth "It's you, I'ts always been you..." is adapted from Sons of Anarchy when Jax proposes to Maggie. 

Thanks again for reading. ;)

 


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